


The Praxic View

by phyrestorm



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Angst, Bad Communication, Bullying, Depression, Domestic Violence, Emotional Baggage, Eye Trauma, Fair Weather Friends, Grief/Mourning, Hidden pain, Homophobic Language, Insomnia, M/M, Misunderstandings, Nightmares, Past Child Abuse, Permanent Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Characters, Roommates, Self-Harm, Self-Medication, Some People Do Change, Some People Never Change, Suicide Attempt, Survivor Guilt, Unrequited Crush, War, bad timing, occasional humor, original character death, took a level in badass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 42
Words: 26,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3412715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phyrestorm/pseuds/phyrestorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q: How do you lose a partner, lose an eye, almost die, then go on like it never happened?</p><p>A: You don't.</p><p>Praxis POV of every scene he's part of in the comic and a bunch of other stuff in between (and probably after.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Work in progress, obviously.
> 
> Comments, questions, and constructive criticism are always more than welcome.
> 
> Thanks to Dokidokibaka and LadyZoisite for their feedback and suggestions.
> 
> I've been doing my best not to contradict canon, but as of 5/21/2015 with the release of the Eclipse game, we know Porthos's Fighter is Athos, not Aramis, and I can't just change his name because he doesn't look or act like how I described him either. And now having two other characters not be a couple looks like it's coming back to bite me in the ass. Oh well.

Medical smells like bleach and piss. Sounds like shouting, screaming, sobbing. Feels like an icy steel fist punched through my chest, crushed something vital, and stayed there.

_Techne..._

He was talking, laughing, then a horrible wet hollow sound. 

Didn't get it at first. Got distracted when something hit me in the face. 

Called to him. Forced my way to his compartment. Blood everywhere. Face blank. Yelled, shook him. Nothing.

Knew I wouldn't be far behind him. 

Then someone with a dumb task name told me how to get away before the antimatter cannon went off. Guess I must have done it.

Next thing I remember is lying here wondering why it looks like only part of the world is gone when it should be everything.


	2. Chapter 2

New Nav is driving me up the wall. Met him 20 minutes ago and he's been babbling excitedly the entire time. He's like that stupid dog Aunt Ava used to have. Fluffy white/yellow hair everywhere, big blue eyes, big goofy grin, and YAP YAP YAP YAP YAP. 

If I don't leave the room right now, I'm going to smack him in the mouth just to make him shut it.

***

Able. Able? Seriously? What's his Fighter's name? Willing?

Of course it's really ABEL, like in Hebrew mythology. I hear someone yelling at him and stumble through a flock of Navigators to catch him in the hallway. Almost knock one down because my depth perception is fucked. 

Do a double take when I see him up close. Short, slim, fine-boned, delicate features, big dark eyes, dark lashes and brows, platinum hair with streaks of gold. Techne's a little taller and has--had--longer hair, but the resemblance is striking.

Then I notice the cut across his lips. Fresh, deep, and too symmetrical to be an accident. Remember that loudmouth creep on the shuttle bragging about how he was going to scar his Navigator so the rest of us would know who we weren't to talk to. The oddly familiar voice in the background yesterday, snarling at Abel to leave us, we were already dead. Put two and two together, and suddenly his task name makes perfect sense.

Cain. Of course.

I don't even know what I'm saying. Probably something stupid. I just wanted to thank him, and suddenly everything got all complicated.

He wants information on Cain, naturally. I'm trying to think of someplace nearby and private to talk when that smug little shit with the knives saunters past. 

If Cain was so bold about telling a couple dozen Fighters to ignore his Navigator, just how forceful would he be about forbidding one fragile-looking Nav to talk to us? What would he do to him if the little shit told him we'd disappeared into a storage room together?

So I get out of there. For Abel's protection, and yeah, OK, mine too. It's not like I couldn't take Cain or the little shit in a straight fight, but both at once would be a challenge. And I wouldn't put it past either of them to jump me while I'm taking a leak or something. With Cain at the top of the rankings, they could slit my throat and be out of the brig in a week. Compared to his kill record, what's one damaged Fighter whose ship is banged up and whose Navigator is d... a little yappy dog who's probably used to eating off silver plates and has a diamond collar somewhere?

I don't know what to do.

Ugh, now Bering's calling.


	3. Chapter 3

Apparently there's some kind of mission in Colteron space that the Commanders want Navs to volunteer for. 

Of course they're not bothering to ask the Fighters. Navigators have to be smart to start with, then need expensive, time-consuming training. But Colonial bastards with decent aim and strong survival instinct? Plenty more where we came from.

Anyway, Bering wants me on the mission, which means I have to track down Yappy and get him to volunteer. I have no clue where he is, so I'll have to go to a restricted comm room and use the RFID map, because I obviously haven't kissed Bering's ass enough to let me do that on my tablet like most of his other aides.

Actually, I'm pretty sure he's got other uses in mind for my mouth in that general area, but to hell with that. I'm not a whore and never will be.

***

Right. Remember half an hour ago when I said I wouldn't be surprised if Cain attacked me while I was distracted? 

WELL GUESS WHAT. 

I didn't seriously think he'd try to stab me, though! THE FUCK WAS THAT?! 

And I can't believe he called Abel a slut! OK, so "tsygan bastard" wasn't too classy on my part, but what the HELL! He may have had a slight chance of winning before he said that. After, he's lucky I didn't throw him over the railing. 

Thinking about what his claim to have fucked Abel might mean, I wish I had. 

***

So I get back to my room and Yappy tells me he's already volunteered. Huh. OK, the kid has balls.


	4. Chapter 4

Can't sleep for long.

Every time I do, I'm back in a dead ship in the middle of battle. A beautiful dark-eyed blond needs my help. No matter how hard I try, I never reach him in time. I fail a thousand different ways.

Wake up, calm down, go back to sleep. Lather rinse repeat, like it said on Techne's cloying flowery shampoo I can still smell on his side of the bed.

Yappy is talking in his sleep. It's annoying, but I've probably been getting on his nerves too with the way I keep jolting awake. I hope I haven't been talking too.

I have to get up in an hour anyway. Might as well just stay awake. 

Of course I fall asleep again, dream again, and this time the blond has short hair and a scar on his mouth.


	5. Chapter 5

All morning, I try and fail to convince myself I'm not afraid of flying again. I don't think it shows, or else some asshole would have given me shit about it by now. I almost wish there would be an attack so I could just get it over with.

When the moment finally comes, it's not that bad. Not fun, but I don't freak out. It's just a quick hop from the station to the Sleipnir. I don't even have to do anything. With nothing to shoot at, I'm just another bit of cargo. 

It's only after I climb into the Tiberius that I realize I subconsciously expected it to still be full of Techne's blood. It's been scrubbed clean, of course. No trace of him left.

***

The crew of the Sleipnir welcomes us aboard with shouting, catcalls, insults, banging on the bulkheads with whatever's handy, and generally making as much noise as they can. Between that and hardly sleeping last night, I've got a splitting headache by the time Yappy and I make it to our tiny new room. 

He wants the top bunk, which is fine with me since I'd barely fit up there. My height may be an advantage in a fight but it's really annoying in close quarters. 

I just have time to gulp down a couple painkillers before we're called to introductory briefings. 

Bering's late, so we all have to stand around and wait for him. After five minutes or so, I hear "Psst! Pssst!" behind me. Ignore it at first, then glance over my shoulder--crap, wrong shoulder--try the one I can still see over, and there's Cain making a "you're dead" gesture at me and his little sidekick snickering.

Very mature, guys.

Of course Bering shows up right then and glares at me for not standing at proper attention.

At least he doesn't give us a big speech. Just introduces the Sleipnir's Lead Fighter, a big black man with a short mohawk. I don't catch his name because what feels like a pen hits the back of my neck at just the wrong moment. Then more snickering.

Is this a battleship or third grade?

Mohawk guy doesn't give a big speech either, just standard alpha dog posturing, then dismisses us. 

The painkillers are barely helping my headache. I go back to my room, take some more, try to tune out Yappy's yapping, and lie down.

30 seconds later, a speaker RIGHT next to my head bellows, "ALL NEWLY TRANSFERRED FIGHTERS REPORT TO PHYSICAL TRAINING ON E DECK! ALL NEWLY TRANSFERRED FIGHTERS REPORT TO PHYSICAL TRAINING ON E DECK!"

Fucking wonderful.

Two Fighters I vaguely recognize get into the elevator after me and start talking about how they heard "Ink" is a real hardass.

Ink? Seriously? What's his Navigator's name? Paper? What is it with weird task names lately? Not that mine is so great. I'm not even quite sure what it mea--

"TIBERIUS! You gonna get your pansy ass out here or stand in the elevator all day?!"

It's mohawk guy, of course. The other two have barely taken a step either, but apparently "Ink" has chosen me to notice. 

Naturally. Guy with the eye patch. Easy to tell apart.

Well, if he wants a weakling to pick on, he's chosen wrong. I don't need two eyes to be strong, fast, and good at hand-to-hand combat. Didn't I prove that yesterday when Cain kicked me in the chest before I knew he was there, surprised me with a knife because he was losing, and still ended up being the only one bleeding? 

I'm determined to prove it again right now even though I'm pretty sure either Cain or the Colterons cracked at least one of my ribs. I guess I manage it, because I don't get yelled at again except when I fail to see someone coming from my left and walk into them. Whatever. It's been two days. I'll adjust.

The Lead Fighter keeps watching me, though. Even while the rest of us are leaving and he's berating Cain for whatever schoolyard stunt he's pulled this time, his eyes keep darting back to me.

Weird.


	6. Chapter 6

For the fourth meal in a row, Cain sits right behind me at lunch and takes every opportunity to loudly say things like "use your EYES" and "I'll keep an EYE on it." Pisses me off at first, but eventually I end up rolling my eyes. Eye. Damn it.

I go to my room to get changed after PT and Yappy tells me we have a roach problem. Probably from the crumbs of those stupid cookies his mom sent him, but I don't say that. I really try not to be a dick to him, which means there's a lot I don't say out loud. Especially his nickname.

Anyway, he says he's set roach traps, but could I still "keep an eye out" for them?

Then he drops his tablet and claps both hands over his mouth, looking absolutely mortified.

"OH MY GOD PRAXIS I'M SOOOOOO SORRY!!!!!!"

I stare at him for a second, then just lose it. Double over and then fall to my knees, belly aching, eye streaming, laughing like a cracked out hyena. Get enough of a grip to look up at where he's backed against the wall like he thinks I might attack, and his expression sets me off again. 

Can't stop. Starts sounding less like laughing, more like crying. Feel one of my mending ribs crack again. Then his hand on my shoulder. That startles me enough to snap out of it.

He's laughing a little too but still looking nervous.

"Oh! I've never even seen you smile before."

I don't know why that surprises me. 

I can't explain exactly what the fuck is so funny since I don't know either, but I tell him about Cain's mealtime game. Long story short, we end up using his tablet to find every goddamn eye-related figure of speech that exists. If Cain keeps it up, I'm going to give him a score based on how many different ones he can come up with. Points deducted for repetition.

Thanks, Yappy. Ethos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then they were besties and lived happily ever after. Yeah, no.


	7. Chapter 7

Same dream again. Like every night. I still can't reach him, or if I do, that's worse. 

Sometimes the Tiberius explodes before I even get out of my harness. Sometimes he lurches up from his blood-drenched seat and attacks me. Sometimes the Colterons board, slice him up like a fish, and offer me a share.

Once, he looks at me with disappointment in his unfocused eyes, breath whistling wetly through the holes in his chest, and says, "You've never done this before, have you." 

But mostly it's just like it happened. I don't have to face the 'Terons or some undead monster. 

Just Techne. Dead.

Dead because I wasn't fast enough. Because I distracted him. Because he was laughing at something I said. 

Dead because his Fighter didn't keep him safe.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: The second part of this chapter features some pretty bad physical and emotional child abuse.

I keep watch over Abel the best I can. Find reasons to be near his room when he'll be leaving or entering, sit where I can see him in the mess hall. He seems fine, at least physically. No new marks I can see. I know what it looks like when someone tries to hide injuries under their clothes, and he doesn't seem to be doing that either. 

Unless he's really good at hiding it. And/or Cain knows just where to hit him so it doesn't show.

I've seen that too. Thinking about it makes me grind my teeth until my jaw hurts.

The cut on Abel's mouth scabs over and then starts to peel. When he licks or nibbles at it absently, I try not to think about how much I'd like to do that for him. Try not to feel like a traitor to Techne even though he said he didn't care who else I fooled around with as long as I didn't catch anything. As if there would ever be anyone else if he would have me.

Every day, I try to work up the nerve to talk to Abel. But I have no right to talk to him. Not after he saved my life and I repaid him by running off like a little bitch when he asked about Cain. To keep both of us safe, I tell myself, but it's really because I'm a damn coward. I wouldn't tell him about Cain because I was scared I'd get jumped. And then I got jumped anyway, won, but still don't have the balls to try again. 

Pathetic.

What's my fucking problem? I have little doubt Cain would do his best to kill me if he got angry enough to forget the consequences, but I knew I'd likely end up dead when I enlisted. 

I couldn't just let humanity be overrun, though. Someone had to stop the Colterons. And it was better than staying where I was. At least that's what I thought. 

***

Go to sleep. See Techne die again. Gasp awake. Lather rinse repeat.

Then something different.

It's not a dream this time so much as a memory. One of the ones I try to keep buried but never really go away. 

I'm twelve and my stepfather just caught me making out with another boy in our building's laundry room. He grabs me by the hair and slams my face into a dryer. Even over his shouting, I can hear my nose break. 

He drags me into the street, down a few blocks, fingers digging into my arm like a vise. Then we're outside the local whorehouse. A skinny boy a few years older than me, clothed in beautiful, flowing lengths of fabric and a blindfold, is dancing by the door.

"Is THIS all you're good for, you little FAGGOT? You little SLUT?! Should I sell you to this place? You want to take over for this bitch?!"

He rips the blindfold off the boy's eyes. Except he doesn't have any. Just two craters of scar tissue.

My stepfather jerks a knife out of his pocket and brings it to my face. I open my mouth to scream...

...and wake up in a cold sweat, tangled in a snarl of blankets, hands hurting from hitting and clawing on a hard floor because apparently I fell out of bed.

_I'm going to cut your other eye out, Praxis!_

I whisper an apology to Ethos because there's no way that didn't wake him up, climb back into bed, and stare at the underside of the top bunk until morning.

At least now I know what I'm afraid of.


	9. Chapter 9

After a couple weeks, I give up on trying to sleep right after lights out and go to the Fighter base level instead.

I'm clearly far from the only Fighter who doesn't keep standard hours. There's some kind of arm wrestling tournament going on in one corner, a few drunks throwing clumsy punches at each other while others boo and cheer, and several tables of card players. 

I watch a group of five play poker until one of them growls, "Ante up or fuck off, blinky."

Why the hell not. 

I pull up a chair to Growly's right and drop five credits in the center of the table.

The guy on Growly's left deals. He's pale with a messy blond mohawk and grey eyes. Looks like a Navigator except too big. Looks like a damn pineapple with that hair, actually.

I pick my cards up, but instead of looking at them, I glance around at everyone else as they look at theirs. Then I focus on the table just under my cards, smile slightly, scratch at my right eyebrow so most of my face is covered, and finally look.

4 of clubs, 2 of spades, ace of diamonds. Shit.

No one else looked particularly happy either except the pineapple, who widened his eyes for a moment and still looks like he's fighting down a smirk. Never having played him before, I can't tell whether he's great or terrible at this.

I get another ace next hand. Take a chance and raise to 10 credits. Growly folds. The guy on my right checks. I think he and the guy on his other side were the two in the elevator with me when we went to our first PT on the Sleipnir.

Pineapple Head is just about to deal the next hand when there's a crash and shouting from the other end of the large room. Apparently one of the fights has gotten out of hand. I'm not at all surprised to hear a string of swearing in Russian, then "YOU MOTHERFUCKER I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"

More crashing, a few excited yells and whoops, and then "SON OF A--AAAARGH!! GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME!!!"

Hello there, Cain. Having a bad night, are we?

At least thirty Fighters have crowded around the scene by the time I get there, but I can see what's going on over most of their heads. Cain and a big man with a red buzz cut are circling each other. The redhead's nose is bleeding and one of Cain's eyes is swelling shut, but neither one is about to back down. This is going to take a while.

Or so I think, until Cain pulls a knife from his jacket and darts forward to slash at the redhead's face. He's fast, but not fast enough. The big guy catches his wrist, spins him around, and gets him in a headlock. The knife clatters to the floor and Cain goes back to cursing in Russian as he struggles for a moment. Then they both freeze.

Looking surprised, the redhead reaches down toward his side with his free hand. It comes back up bloody. He and Cain both stare at something too low for me to see over the crowd.

I circle around to where it's thinner, and there's Cain's little sidekick with one knife ready to drive into the redhead's heart and another pointing as close to the man's throat as he can reach.

Cain recovers first and sinks his teeth into the other man's arm, bursts out of his grip, and backhands him right in the junk. He doubles over.

The crowd goes "Ooooh!" and a few yell "Yeah, Cain! Finish him!"

I usually stay out of this kind of crap, but if someone's about to get killed, I can't just stand and watch. 

I take a step forward, but by the time Cain has his knife back, the redhead is upright again and back in a battle stance, breathing hard but ready for more. Then the little shit runs up to Cain, pulls on his shirt, and points toward one of the doors. Cain snarls one more insult, spits toward the redhead, then dashes off through another door, sidekick just behind him.

Seconds later, the first door bangs open. 

"RELIANT!"

I think it's Encke at first. But no, this guy is shorter and his head is shaved.

He glares around at us.

"Ugh. I know he was here two minutes ago, but none of you little pissants is going to tell me where he went, are you."

"Hey, Sarge. If you mean the crazy Russian, he booked it out that door 30 seconds ago," says the redhead, pointing.

The Sarge seems to consider chasing him, then decide against it.

"Fuck it. Chief, go have medical stitch up your side. The rest of you, go to bed."

He leaves without bothering to see if anyone obeys, so most of us don't. 

Five of us find our way back to the poker table, minus Growly. An argument breaks out between Pineapple Head and the guy on his right about what to do with his cards.

I ask the guy on my right, one of the ones from the elevator, "So, who's Mr. Knife Guy?"

"Heh. You mean Deimos? He's Cain's best friend. He's weird. Never talks."

The guy on the other side of him adds, "I heard he stabbed some poor fucker on the shuttle for giving Cain shit."

It was just a little poke, actually. Right at my kidney. Just to let me know he knew where to cut me if he wanted to. The little shushing gesture he made would have been cute under other circumstances. Hell, Deimos himself would be adorable under other circumstances.

I don't correct him because it looks like the game is about to start up again. And yeah, OK, it's embarrassing to lose a fight before it starts to someone literally half your size.

Pineapple Head raises to 20 credits. I raise to 40. The guy on my right checks. His friend folds. So does the guy on his other side.

Time to show 'em.

Pineapple Head grins like he just got a date with the Admiral and starts singing some old song: "We three kings of Orient are..."

And sure enough, he plunks down three kings. 

Elevator guy swears and tosses out a pair of queens.

I try not to look as smug as I feel when I lay out my three aces.

For a moment, I think Pineapple Head is going to kick the table over, but he just stomps off.

Elevator guy bursts out laughing as I stuff the mess of coins and crumpled notes into my pocket. He's got a stocky build, light brown skin, short brown curls, and eyes like the Japanese girl I hung out with in school. What's his fucking name, anyway?

"What's your fucking name, anyway?" I ask him. 

"Jesus fuck, dude! It's Castor! From the Essex? We met the day before we transferred, remember?"

No. No, I don't. I was just a bit fucking preoccupied that day.

"Oh yeah, right. And you and your friend were in the elevator..."

"Our first PT here, yeah! Haha, Encke is such a dick. And then you walked into me, you ass!"

"Did I? Sorry. Must not have seen you since you're so short."

Castor snorts and stands up next to me like he's going to prove something. He's actually about average, but one of my few talents is making just about anyone look short.

His friend laughs at him. He's lean and olive-skinned with a hook nose and straight black ponytail.

"I'm Aramis. That prat with the three kings was my Nav, Porthos."

"Praxis. Hi."

I thought that clown looked like a Nav. Didn't know they grew them that big.

I'm starting to walk off when Castor calls, "Hey! Same time tomorrow night?"

Why the hell not.

***

A few useful facts:

1\. People tend to either avoid looking at me or stare at the patch. Either way, they're not reading my expression. Instant poker face.

2\. My blind spot isn't as big as people seem to think. If you can see my eye, I can see you. Yes, you, idiot who's literally pulling cards out of your sleeve. 

3\. Ditto sore losers who try to "sneak up" and attack me from the left.

4\. My first job was at a casino where my best friend ran the poker table and I got 50 free chips per day.

Profits so far:

687 credits, 9 packs of cigarettes, a supposedly real silver lighter, 7 bottles of moonshine/cleaning fluid/god knows, 2 joints, a knife (thanks, Deimos,) some weird fancy soap from Earth (who the hell put that in the pot?) and an excellent opportunity to punch Cain in the face again (see item 3.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3974455) bit of Ethos POV fluff is set soon after this chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

Ethos has been weird lately. He still tries to start conversations all the time whether there's anything that needs saying or not, but now he seems nervous about it. Blushes and stutters and restarts sentences. Like he's afraid of me, but I've never given him reason to be. Some Navs are scared of Fighters in general, but he wasn't scared of me at first, so what the hell? 

Sometimes he just kind of stares at me and then looks away quickly when he sees me looking back. 

I catch myself doing the exact same thing to Abel across the mess hall and the penny drops.

Shit.

***

Ethos suggests we train together for the third time in as many days, and for the third time in as many days, I weasel out of it. What the fuck is wrong with me?

OK, Praxis, you asked. 

The truth is, I hate him. I hate how he can't take a hint to shut up and leave me alone. I hate his stupid face. I hate his stupid fluffy hair. I hate the stupid happy look he gets when he opens letters and gifts from his stupid happy family. I hate the stupid way he says "Oh!" all the time like a stupid little girl in an old stupid movie. I hate him for not actually being stupid because that would make him easier to hate. 

I hate him for being so fucking pure and sweet and innocent when I'm such a mess inside and barely holding it together. I hate him because he's not Techne. I hate him because he's not Abel. I hate him because he makes me realize I'm the kind of worthless asshole who hates people for completely unfair, ridiculous reasons. 

I hate him because it's a distraction from how much I hate myself.

The other truth is, I know he deserves better. A better Fighter and a better partner in any sense of the word. When he finally has the sense to ask for reassignment, he can tell them how I ignored and avoided him and it won't even be a black mark on his record. Just mine, where it can blend in with all the others I'm probably getting for slipping down the rankings and "failure to adjust." 

Then maybe he'll get someone nice. Nice Fighters do exist. I think I even used to be one. 

Maybe he'll get someone who can pretend this is one big slumber party with him. Someone to giggle and play silly games with and share cookies from home. Someone who still has his whole fucking face. Someone who still has his whole fucking heart to give if he wanted to, not just blackened shards.

I hope to every god I've ever heard of I'm the one who dies next time.


	11. Chapter 11

Can't sleep. Try some of the mystery liquor I've won at poker. That helps. For a few hours. 

Get up and wander around the Sleipnir. Find the engine room. Find the Navigators' lab. Find some comm rooms. Find Jackson, the red-haired man Cain was fighting, taking apart the wing of a Starfighter. Turns out he's Deck Chief and the fight was because he talked to Abel for 30 seconds. Guess there's a lot of that going around.

Drink some more. Sleep through breakfast. Late to PT. Get yelled at. Find out how to spell 'Encke' because it's on his desk. Don't remember a damn thing he says.

Watch Abel. Watch Deimos watch Abel. Watch Encke watch me. Wonder what his deal is. 

Get called to Bering's office. Don't remember a damn thing he says either. Doesn't matter. I'm only on his staff because my mom called in a favor. Not like he actually needs me. Just as well since he's such a creep.

Let Ethos drag me to battle practice for once. Screw up and get us killed until he asks if I'm even trying. Stop trying.

Lose at poker. Get laughed at. Win. Get punched. Punch back. Ethos freaks out about blood on my knuckles. Wash it off. 

Finish the bottle. Pass out. Dream Techne is hugging Abel protectively and shouting, "Coward! COWARD!" at me over his shoulder. Start another bottle to shut him up. Dream about the time I beat up another boy when I was 13 and my stepfather said maybe he'd make a man of me yet. Toss and turn in a drunken twilight until morning.

More PT. Too tired and hung over to care for long when one of Cain's pals "accidentally" drops a 50-pound barbell on my foot.

Cain himself drops one on my taped-together toes the next day. Pick it up and "accidentally" smash it into his ribs. 

Yes, sir. No, sir. Won't do it again, sir. I'm fine, sir. I'm fine.

Latrine duty for both of us. 

More poker. Win a bottle, then lose money. Get laughed at again. Get called a fag. I'm the one who almost kicks the table over this time. 

I'm fine, Castor. Sorry. Just tired.

So fucking tired.

Try a cigarette. Try not to throw up. Remember why I don't smoke. Trade packs I won for bottles. Need half a bottle to sleep through a night now. When it even works.

Wake up when the floor hits me. Where the fuck am I? Oh yeah. Bathroom. Slowly make it to my feet. Thank gods the door was closed. Spit blood in the sink. Wash it down.

I'm fine, Ethos. Just dropped something.

Realize I haven't eaten in two days. Forgot. Don't care. Don't care about anything.

Start to care. Drink until it stops. Then eat so I don't start tripping over nothing in PT.

Trip over nothing in PT. Skin both knees and a palm. Get right back up. I'm fine.

Go down again on the track. Almost take Castor with me. Shit. Sorry, buddy. No, I don't need to sit down. I'm fine. Fuck you and your fake concern, Encke. I'm finishing my fucking laps.

Don't notice I'm still bleeding until Ethos freaks out again. Gives me that googly-eyed earnest look I always want to slap off him.

Piss off. I'm fine.

Decide I've been drinking too much. Don't drink that night. Don't sleep. Memories scream at me anyway.

Share an elevator with Aramis again.

"Dude, are you OK? You look like shit!"

I'm FINE.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is he fine? What do you think, kids?


	12. Chapter 12

The dream starts the same as always. Lather rinse repeat. Except instead of calls for help or Techne's last, choked sound, I hear awful obscene noises and the sounds of someone being beaten. And when I manage to squeeze between compartments, it's not Techne or even Abel. It's Cain. Leering. Laughing. Holding out a knife stuck through something bloody. Bloody and round and sickeningly familiar.

"Looking for this?"

I launch myself forward and I've got him by his ridiculous hair and I'm punching his sneering face as hard as I can, over and over, but I can't seem to hurt him. He just keeps waving the knife with my eye on it, taunting me with it, laughing because we both know he'll get the other one sooner or later.

Then it's not laughter, it's sobs. The hair I'm clutching isn't spiky black but curly blond, we're not on the Tiberius, we're on the floor of my room, weak hands are pushing at my chest, big blue eyes looking up at me in terror from a bloody, tear-streaked face.

I let go, recoil off him so fast I hit my head on something hard enough to stun me for a moment. And he's out the door, footsteps running, fading, too late to chase him even if that wasn't a really bad idea right now. So I just sit here wishing Abel had left me to die while horror at what I've done crushes in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope. Not fine. You'd think the military would have figured out how to recognize and treat PTSD in time to prevent this kind of thing by now.


	13. Chapter 13

Medical won't let me in to see Ethos. I guess that's understandable, but they won't even tell me how he's doing. How badly I hurt him. Won't even carry a note. Won't tell him I'm sorry. 

If I don't get out of here right now, I'll punch the head nurse in his fat gut. I try to storm off but I can't even do that right. Since I'm an idiot, I turn to my left and walk straight into someone who was standing in my blind spot.

Encke. Of course. Who the fuck else would it be.

He shoves me away and, since I'm an idiot, I take a swing at him without thinking. Half a second later, I'm slammed face-first into the wall with my arm twisted painfully behind my back. I don't even try to fight, just grit my teeth and wait for him to pull it out of the socket. I deserve a dislocated shoulder and worse. And then medical will have to let me in. 

Instead, he just sighs, like I'm not worth the effort.

"Wait here, Tiberius."

He lets go and I wait, turn my back to the wall, slowly slide down until I'm sitting. Try to rub the pain out of my shoulder.

"Give this to Keeler. Tell him I said hi."

The fat bastard suddenly has no problem playing messenger between Fighter and Navigator. 

Encke comes back, looks me up and down, then sighs again.

"My office. Now."

I get my shaking legs back under me and follow him wordlessly, wondering why he can't just bawl me out and send me to the brig where we are.

He closes the door behind us. Sits down behind his desk and points to another chair.

"Sit."

I sit.

"All right. What the hell happened?"


	14. Chapter 14

I open my mouth, shut it, try again, fail again to make a sound. My eye is prickling at the corners and something weird is going on under the patch.

Encke studies me, then holds up a finger as if for silence, as if I'd managed to say anything.

"Hang on."

He leaves through a door I hadn't noticed before and comes back a few minutes later, holding two steaming mugs. He slides one across his desk to me.

"Drink."

I drink. I haven't had tea since before I enlisted. I expect a painful flood of memories and get one, but somehow it's strengthening too. Warmth flowing to my middle and spreading.

I peer at Encke suspiciously.

"Did you spike this?"

"Article 42 section 3: In a time of crisis, officers may administer medication to enlisted men as they see fit. In this case, that means a generous shot of bourbon in your tea. Note that I have not ordered you to drink it, but between you and me, you look like you could use it."

I down the rest in two swallows.

"Good. Now tell me why your Navigator has a broken nose and a concussion."

I still don't want to talk, but the bourbon makes it easier. I force myself to give him a short, not-too-humiliating version of the story.

"Let me get this straight: You had a bad dream, your Nav interrupted, and you beat the crap out of him because you thought he was Cain?"

"Yes, sir."

He actually smiles a bit.

"You're not the only one who's dreamed of doing that."

An ugly little snort of laughter escapes me before I can stop it.

"Honestly, Tiberius, I was expecting something like this a lot sooner."

My surprise must be visible.

"I do my homework. I know what happened to you. Truth be told, I didn't want you on the Sleipnir so soon afterwards, but Bering overruled me."

He studies me some more, sighs again.

"Even in wartime, no one should have to go back to work the day after a permanent injury or losing a partner. Let alone both."

No one's ever acknowledged that before. Apart from making sure I could still see well enough to shoot, no one gives a shit. Why should they? 

If Encke doesn't shut up right the fuck now, I'm going to have to hit him so he'll hit me back, break my shoulder after all, give me an excuse for the tears I can't hold back much longer.

Maybe he gets that or maybe we're both just lucky. He does shut up, then disappears into the other room again. He comes back digging around in a duffel and speaks without looking at me.

"Ethos isn't the first to learn the hard way to let sleeping Fighters lie, and he won't be the last. Keeler and I had an...incident once. Now where the hell did I put..."

"You hit your Nav?"

"Only after he did this."

He pulls up his sleeve to show me a long, thin scar across the back of his forearm and hand.

"Bastard talks in his sleep and used to sleep holding a knife. Didn't see fit to warn me about either. I try and shut him up a lot more carefully now."

He shoots me a glare.

"Don't go spreading that around or you'll be sharing a room with Ethos again in medical."

Well, that's insulting.

"I don't gossip...sir."

He ignores the pause and makes for the door. "I've got PT to run. You are excused. Stay here. Help yourself to more tea."

I'm instantly up and grabbing at his arm. "No! Wait! Sir, I have to see Ethos! I have to tell him I'm sorr-"

He shoves me against the wall again, face outward this time, pinning me by the wrists, so close I can feel his breath on my lips. Which is surprisingly distracting. His eyes are amber like a cat's and he's actually slightly shorter than me when I always thought he was taller. 

"You are in no condition to tell anyone anything. Ethos will be fine. Now calm the fuck down."

It shouldn't be this hard to throw him off. Why am I so weak? Did I forget to eat again yesterday? Must have. Think I had some toast the day before.

Encke is still talking, but I can't hear him over the roaring in my ears. I start to slide down the wall, realize one of my hands is free, and sock him with it. Not as hard as I'd like, but at least I feel my fist connect with flesh. I press my advantage and bash my forehead into his nose, make him stagger back. Try to follow and stumble.

Then the wind's knocked out of me and I'm on my back, gasping for air, hands clawing frantically at cloth and muscle until they're pinned next to my head again.

And he doesn't even look that angry. Annoyed, but mostly some other emotion. 

Pity. 

FUCK.

I can't do this anymore. 

He's off me and out the door just in time before the tears start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Encke is pretty much speaking for me for most of this conversation. Part of the reason this fic exists is me wondering how the hell Praxis seems to be coping so well in canon. In his place, I'd have flipped the fuck out long ago.


	15. Chapter 15

The other room is a little kitchen. There's a large bottle of bourbon on the tiny table, almost full.

Don't mind if I do.

Two hours later, I'm out of bourbon and patience. To hell with this. I'm leaving.

No I'm not. The outside door to Encke's office is locked. 

Asshole.

I hurl the bottle across the room. It clatters against the wall and disappears under his desk without breaking. And I need to break something. The last thing I broke was Ethos's face, and I can't bear to let that stand. I can't keep seeing his fear and hurt every time I blink. Can't keep remembering my mother unconscious on a mildewed cot in a seedy little clinic, beaten almost beyond recognition, and how I swore to myself I'd never, _ever_ do that to anyone.

_I may make a man of you yet._

Encke left his tablet on his desk. I grab it by the screen and bash it against the wall until my arms ache, but it doesn't break. Yank the knife out of my boot and try to stab it, but that doesn't work either. See my ugly, lopsided, crying face reflected in the shiny cover. Fling it away in disgust. 

Lurch off to find the bathroom. It's right by the trash chute and hey, there's a shower in here too. And what's this? A tiny fridge? With bottles of moonshine/cleaning fluid/god knows? Perfect.

I alternate between gulping the throat-burning liquid and attacking just about everything in Encke's little suite until the last bottle is almost empty, I can't stand up anymore, and I realize the only breakable thing in here is me.


	16. Chapter 16

Sensations swirl around me while I lie still. Sounds and voices and lights and colors.

Warm water falling.

Vomit on white plastic. Gross. Wash it away.

Scarlet swirling, spiraling as everything fades.

Amber eyes in a dark, worried face.

"Tiberius? Praxis! Talk to me!"

Can't. Don't want to. Go away.

Hands shaking me, pulling at me. Lifting me. Been a long time since anyone could do that. Longer since I let anyone try.

Light stabbing through my eyes. Yes, both of them. And I know exactly what that fucking feels like.

"Don't do this, baby!"

Motion. Shouting. Piss and bleach smell.

Not this again. Get OFF me!

"Hold him! Where the hell is that sedative?!"

A jab, then spreading coolness.

Strong brown fingers interlaced with pale limp ones. 

Big ugly wretched sobs that shake my whole big ugly wretched body.

Waiting for death. Again. Hurry up, goddammit.

Death is wearing dress whites and his soft platinum and gold waves brush my face as he leans over me.

"You've never done this before, have you? That's so sweet! Don't worry. I'll teach you..."

I gaze into the enchanting dark eyes I've missed so much and try to lift my arms to embrace him. I want so badly for him to take me away. But he just gives me a sad smile and a feathery little kiss, then recedes to somewhere I can't follow.

Pain comes creeping back. Creeping and then rushing until my whole front feels like it's been flayed, my belly is full of acid, and someone seems to be trying to break my skull from the inside.

The hand holding mine is small and pale pink now. Wide blue eyes are staring down at me from a bruised face. He's got that look again, the childishly earnest one I always want to slap away because that look was beaten out of me long ago and I miss it.

"Sssss...suhhh..."

My mouth is completely dry and my throat feels like I swallowed a dozen razor blades, tried to puke them up, and half of them got stuck.

"S-sorry! Sss...so...sorry.. Dint...agh...mm...mean..."

"I know! It's OK! I'm OK! I'm sorry!"

"Y-YOU'RE sorry? No...I-I..."

"I didn't know! I never bothered to find out until Keeler told me! Oh my god, I had no idea! The DAY BEFORE?! Oh my GOD!"

"All right. He gets it. Let him rest."

A delicate white hand on Ethos's shoulder, eyes the color of a clear summer sky, a loose braid barely darker than his white tank top. A kind smile.

Thanks, whoever you are. And damn, you're pretty.

"Oh! Keeler! I didn't hear you come in."

So this is who slashed Encke's arm open. I can see why he didn't want the story getting around.

"Ethos, why don't you go get us some drinks from the officers' canteen? Here's my pass. I'd like to talk to Praxis for a minute."

The moment Ethos is gone, Keeler's eyes turn from summer sky to ice. He brings his face so close I think (hope?) for a moment he's going to kiss me. Instead, he whispers, "Listen, jackass. This is war. Either get your shit together or do the job properly. We don't have time for this crap. And if you hurt Ethos again--or Encke--I'll fucking show you how to slit your wrists like you mean it. You hold the knife or I will. Are we clear?"

So that's why my wrists ache.

"And knock off the trouser tent. I'm straight."

Ethos returns and so does Keeler's smile. They chatter brightly and take turns feeding me ice chips until I pass out again, wondering how and why this gorgeous, terrifying apparition thinks I might hurt his Fighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's lesson was called What Not To Say To Suicidal People. Thank you, Keeler.


	17. Chapter 17

The dreams aren't any prettier, but they're fragmented and blunted so I don't care so much. It's like watching TV with someone switching channels every couple minutes. And just enough reality mixed in to be really fucking confusing.

A beautiful dark-eyed blond is skewered with bits of a broken Starfighter and bleeds out while his Fighter yanks a piece of shrapnel from his face. 

A cruel shadow with spiky black hair holds down another beautiful dark-eyed blond and brands a mark through his lips as he struggles. 

Another cruel shadow holds down an innocent puppy and beats him bloody, recoils far too late, hits his head on the ladder of a bunk bed, and a river of ugliness comes spilling out.

An enraged man takes off his belt in front of two children, both sick with dread. He orders the girl to drop her pants and bend over. When he starts to whip her, she and the boy are relieved.

An amber-eyed panther sniffs at a wounded man, then lies down next to and across him.

White fabric. White ceiling. So much white. Like snow in Earth books and vids. Not like Europa where it's always dingy grey.

A bag full of blood slowly drains into the man's arm. Nice of them to give it back. How did they get it up out of the drain? 

The panther growls at anyone who comes near, nuzzling the man's face as he twitches and whispers and groans. 

I can't hold still. Sweating hot and teeth-rattling cold at the same time. Didn't know it was possible to shake this hard. 

I've been captured by the 'Terons and if I don't fight I'll die, and maybe other people too. Someone may be counting on me so I can't give up. I can't. I won't...

Turn the shakes into bigger movements. Thrashing, kicking, get away from the soft snarl of whatever I've gotten tangled in. Something hard hits me in the face and side. 

Is this the floor? Yeah, this is the floor. Start crawling. Look for a weapon. 

Two giant, pale, sluggish spiders twitch and scrabble for footholds. I draw my hands towards my chest. GUH! AHH!! ...Oh.

An angry voice: "...my job if you keep interfering, Lieutenant! You've been here every day since...!"

Another one: "...TOLD you to wean him off that shit gradually! Now look...FUCK!"

A few running steps and some jostling and I'm back on the soft surface, which is just a bed now. More yelling, a door slamming. I'm not captured. I'm just in medical. 

Someone shaking me, pleading, patting at my face until I try to push them away. Amber eyes again, a sigh of relief, then gentle hands in my hair and warm, soft lips against mine. 

Blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Severe alcohol poisoning recovery SUCKS. So does recovery from major blood loss. NEVER try to do both at once if you can help it. Statistically, Praxis shouldn't have survived that, and I chose to have him be unconscious during the nastiest parts (stomach pumping, anyone?)
> 
> I promise something good will happen next chapter after all this heavy shit. Maybe even a new relationship tag? ;)


	18. Chapter 18

Ethos gets out of medical before I do. His brain is fine and his nose will be good as new soon. Not like mine that was never set properly.

I could have been here for a day or a month. I don't know. I don't know how many times Ethos visits me. Or why, after what I did. I just know he stops and someone tells me he's been released.

Good. I hope his new Fighter is decent to him. If he's not, I'll fucking find him when I get out and make sure he ends up right here for a long time.

That's the least I can do, I think, as I struggle to open my eyes--EYE--did I really forget that?--and strain to bring a cup of water to my lips with my weak, shaking, useless hands. When I drop it for the third time, they stick the IV back in and I go back to dreamland.

***

When I'm finally released, a nurse gives me some pills, along with instructions that I instantly forget, then sends me back to my old room. It sucks that Ethos was the one who had to move when none of this is his fault, but it's the military. I've long since stopped expecting anyone to even pretend to be fair. 

My new Navigator won't be here yet. I'll meet him later when Bering or Cook formally assigns us together.

So I walk in, fully expecting the room to be empty, but it's not. Ethos is still here. He's in just his shorts, perched on the edge of his upper bunk like a fluffy little bird, and he's not alone. 

Deimos, butt naked, springs down from beside him, places himself between us, produces a knife from fuck knows where, and gives me a silent snarl.

All three of us freeze for a moment. Then Ethos and I start talking at the same time.

"Oh! Praxis! You're back!"

"Shit! Sorry! They must have screwed up my orders! I'll go ask where I'm supposed to be now..."

"But...you're supposed to be here? They didn't tell me you were getting out today! Sorry!"

Deimos rolls his eyes and leans against the wall to watch.

"Wait a minute," I say. "Are you telling me we haven't been reassigned?"

"W-were we supposed to be?"

"Wha--are you--after what--seriously?! Then why is HE here?"

"Oh! He's just...visiting."

Deimos smirks.

I can't say I think much of my Nav's taste in men.

Whatever. This makes no sense. No one in their right mind would leave us together after I hurt him like that. 

"Right. I'm going to go get this straightened out."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New relationship taaaag! 
> 
> I actually ship Deimos with Praxis, but that's been done so well before (*cough* [Replacement](http://archiveofourown.org/series/42036) *cough*) that I didn't want to compete. Praxis in this storyline needs to get his shit together before he'd be good relationship material anyway.


	19. Chapter 19

Encke's office isn't a place I particularly want to return to, but if I can get back in the Tiberius after what happened there, I can do this.

I press the buzzer outside his door. A moment later, the door slides open.

Encke is sitting at his desk, which is covered with a mess of papers and pieces of hardware I mostly don't recognize.

"I'm here to request reassignment."

He doesn't even look up.

"Denied. "

"But Ethos isn't safe with me! We've never gotten along great and now I've really hurt him!"

"The answer is no."

Keeler appears in the doorway from the little kitchen. Great. Just who I wanted to see.

"How can you expect him to share a room with me after that?!"

Encke opens his mouth to respond, but Keeler cuts him off.

"Shut up, Praxis. Bering specifically wanted the two of you together and that's not going to change."

Encke finally glances at me for a moment, then goes back to staring at the ship part he's holding like it's the most fascinating thing ever.

"Dismissed, Tiberius."

OK, then. I tried doing this the easy way.

I grab a fist-sized hunk of metal and plastic off Encke's desk and fling it at his head.


	20. Chapter 20

The brig sucks slightly less than medical. It's dark and boring and smells worse, but at least it's quiet and I'm alone so I can't hurt anyone.

My cell is a grey metal box. Steel, or maybe titanium. Grey walls, grey ceiling and floor, grey toilet, grey sink, and a worn grey blanket that's almost exactly the same shade. The only thing that's different is the inside of the toilet, which looks like it's never been cleaned. 

Most people sleep as much as they can in the brig, but that's still problematic for me, so I kill time by exercising. It's hard to keep track of days because the lighting is always the same level of dim, but by the time a dozen meals have been slid through the little hatch in the bottom of the door, I can do almost as many situps and pushups as I could before this whole shitstorm started.

Two meals later, I bite the stitches out of my wrists. The left one still aches a bit, but Keeler was right: I didn't really mean it, so I did a piss-poor job. The scars might not even be permanent. I likely would have lived even if Encke hadn't found me.

I start to get angry at how Encke locked me in his office for hours, gave me that look of pity, then wouldn't even look me in the face once I was up and about again. And some other stuff I'm not sure how much of which really happened. 

How do I even know he's the one who found me? I might have just assumed that since it was his office, and my fucked up brain produced images of him shaking me, looking so scared, begging me to say something.

No one actually called me 'baby.' For fuck sake. And later, I imagined him holding my hand. It was just Ethos all along. 

Of course it was. Poor, annoying, sweet little Ethos. Why doesn't he have the sense to give up on me?

All of a sudden, I miss the twerp.

I make myself as comfortable as I can on the hard floor and remember Aunt Ava's little dog with his big blue eyes and fluffy white/yellow fur. The one that jumped up and pawed mud all over me and gave me headaches with his yapping, but cuddled up and comforted my sister when she cried. He even bit our stepfather once...

I drift off and dream of throwing random pieces of metal and plastic for the dog, who brings them all back and yaps for more while an amber-eyed panther watches us from the shadows.

I pet the dog and give him a bit of bread, then start to make my way cautiously toward the panther. It's hard to see and I keep tripping over things, but--

"RED ALERT! INCOMING ATTACK! RED ALERT! INCOMING ATTACK!"

I scramble upright as the door to my cell bangs open.

Looks like it's back to work.


	21. Chapter 21

I haven't done much walking recently, let alone running, and I have to go all the way to my room for my flight suit, so I'm the last to arrive at the launch bay. 

Ethos is waiting nervously, standing up in his seat, no doubt wondering if I'll show up at all.

I haul myself up the ladder in what feels like slow motion, curse my stupid heavy limbs, slam my hatch behind me, and pant out, "Sorry! Sitrep?"

"Oh! Are you all ri--"

"Fine!" I snap. "Just tell me what's going on!"

At least he's got us moving. Takeoff still gives me a bit of the old thrill. Acceleration and then the sudden openness of space.

"Keeler said it's an exploratory unit. About 60 raiders and a mothership not far behind. We're to take care of the little ones and let the Sleipnir handle the big one."

60 of them against 38 of us isn't great odds, but it'll do. I can do this. 

"Right. Just point me at them."

I can do this. My hands are NOT shaking. I do NOT keep whipping my head to the left to check my blind spot, because I do NOT keep forgetting about the mirror I stuck to my hatch to cover that. 

I can do this.

A 'Teron raider is about to cross my sights. I fire. Too late for it to change direction. 

One down. 

I can do this!

We make a sudden, deep dip to avoid another Starfighter, then go into a tight spin. My stomach lurches worse than when I used the simulator for the first time in basic. Don't throw up. DO NOT THROW UP.

"PRAXIS!"

I snap my eye open and fire just in time. Two down.

"I asked if you were all right for a reason!" he barks as we even out.

"Yeah! Sorry! I'm just rusty. Which I know is my own fau--WHOA!"

Another 'Teron is coming straight at us, like it wants to play chicken. We fire at the same time. Ethos dodges quick enough. They don't.

That's three.

"Nice dodge!" I tell him. 

He just grumbles something I'm pretty sure includes the word 'idiot.'

Fine. I'll take that over floods of inane chatter any day.

Speaking of chatter, there's a lot of it coming from the radio. Most of it isn't even words, just clicking noises. Then an ear-splitting screech.

"OW! Shit!"

I tear my helmet off. Even with the earphones away from my ears, the sound is still painful. I take a shot at another 'Teron and miss. A jolt and then we're spinning again.

The noise finally stops, but the spinning doesn't.

"Ethos!" I shout. I can barely hear myself. "You OK?"

The spin stops as quickly as it started and the side of my head smacks against the window. That's going to leave a mark.

"ETHOS?!"

He yells something back. I'm still having trouble hearing, but I think he's OK.

I get my helmet back on just in time to hear someone shouting, "...blocked further auditory attacks! Return to formation!"

We never made it into formation in the first place since I was late. By the time we're in sight of the main part of the battle, I can hear again. Which is a good thing. 

I'm going to need every sense working at top capacity because that is WAY more than 60 raiders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I stole "raiders" from Battlestar Galactica. Cylons, Colterons, whatever...


	22. Chapter 22

"Oh..." says Ethos.

"...fuck," I finish for him.

Then there's no time to talk, or think, or do anything but aim and shoot. Split second reactions. Kill or die. 

Time slows down. Everything slips into the background except my guns and the 'Teron raiders. It doesn't matter how many dips, loops, and spins Ethos sends us through now. All I have to do is watch, estimate trajectories, and pull the trigger at the right time.

We're still alive, so I can't be doing too badly.

Spoke too soon. Another big jolt and a burning smell. Crushing pain in my head around the same place it hit the window when I had my helmet off. But I can still breathe and see. I can still fight.

Something disconnects and I'm not afraid anymore. I'm not even really there anymore. I'm watching myself from the outside. I can still see my body doing all the things it needs to do, which right now means shaking off the pain. Telling Ethos I'm OK. Blowing away every 'Teron I can. 

I can see Ethos too, frowning and biting his lip, sometimes baring his teeth as he maneuvers through the maelstrom of ships and fire. He looks fiercer than I thought a little yappy dog could and he's doing a really good job. I should tell him that. I will later when I'm not so busy.

I feel weird. Almost like I did in medical during the moments between nightmares and agony and nothingness. Like after I realized my hands weren't spiders and the 'Terons hadn't captured me. After Encke hauled me back onto the bed and it was just a bed. After--

"I can't, sir! My Navigator's dead!"

Fuck, not NOW! I'm in the middle of a goddamn battle! Can't this shit even wait until I go to fucking sleep anymore?!

"The engine's not responding! Nosa Señora! Ave Maria llene eres de gracia el Señor es contigo..."

What? That's not how it goes.

Suddenly I'm back in my body and I know that's not my voice.

"Ethos, who is that? And where!"

"Um, it's the Pleiad and they're half a click away."

"Go help him!" I order.

I can't let another Fighter die like that.

"What do you think I'm DOING, Praxis?!" Ethos snaps. "We're on our way now! Pay attention!"

I was paying attention to doing my job and keeping us alive, but I don't say that because he's got a point. I've gotten so used to tuning him out when he prattles at me about nothing that I wasn't listening to him just now when it could be a matter of life and death. 

This drifting feeling and the fact that I keep seeing two of everything for a moment are no excuse.

No excuse when it takes me five shots to finish off the two raiders that were after the Pleiad. When I completely forget what Abel told me about how to bring a dead ship back to life even though I hear it again practically every night. No excuse when Ethos has to do most of the work, telling the other Fighter what to do, getting him following us while I can barely stay focused on what we're supposed to be doing.

By the time we get him back to the hangar bay, most of the 'Teron ships are down. We get out of the way so the Sleipnir can fire its antimatter cannon at the mothership. It explodes in a beautiful wave of annihilation, taking most of the remaining raiders with it. 

Fighters whoop and holler as they mop up the few that are left. And maybe a couple Navigators too, since I think I recognize Porthos's voice. I expect Encke to tell them to shut up and be professional, but he lets them have their fun. 

Ethos and I are too far from the action to rack up any more kills. Which is fine with me because my head hurts like hell and I feel like puking again even though we're barely moving. So we just hang out near the Sleipnir and wait for the order to pull back.

The order has just been given when our incoming ordinance alarm goes off. Shit, one must have got away! Ethos evades and the burst of plasma flashes past us.

I can't find the raider on my screen. I shout, "Where is it?!" at the same time as someone yells, "CAIN!? What the HELL!"

"Whoops," says a sneering, just-barely-accented voice. "Finger slipped."


	23. Chapter 23

That's it. He's gone too far this time. He can hate me all he likes, but trying to kill me in cold blood? Not even caring that Ethos would die too? And a Starfighter would be destroyed on a critical mission in the middle of a goddamn WAR?!

I'm going to fucking kill him. I'm going to get another knife and cut his nasty little throat. Watch the knowledge dawn on him and the light drain out of his eyes...

No I'm not. I can't. 

I know that. I've known it for over a decade now. When it comes right down to it, I can't kill another human being. No matter how much they deserve it.

"Praxis? Praxis! Are you OK?"

Ethos is crouching over me, practically in my lap. We're landed. Everyone's getting out of their ships. People are running around the hangar bay, cheering, celebrating.

"Peachy," I tell him. "Move."

I make sure I'm first down the ladder because I don't know if I can get down without falling and I don't want to land on Ethos. As it turns out, I make it to solid ground and THEN fall. Just sit for a moment, holding onto the bottom of the ladder. Then another moment. And another. 

Try to get up and the world lurches. Nope. Sit right back down.

Ethos is squatting by me, asking again if I'm OK. He's joined by Encke, who cups the back of my neck with a strong but gentle hand, carefully lifts my helmet off, and swears. Then he starts asking me questions like can I see straight and do I feel nauseous. 

Meanwhile, Cain and a couple of his pals are howling with laughter, screaming, "WHERE IS IT?! WHERE IS IT?!" in exaggerated mock panic.

Oh my gods, all of you, _shut UP._

"Ethos! Are you all right?"

It's Abel. He looks equal parts worried and furious. Then he sees me and his eyes go wide with alarm.

"Oh! Praxis, are YOU all right!?"

No, but I'm glad he is. I really wish he wasn't looking at me right now, though.

"Back up!" Encke snaps. "Give him room!"

They do, just in time before I puke right where Abel's boots were.

"Jackson!" calls Encke. "Escort Praxis to medical! You go too, Ethos. Get that hand looked at."

"And YOU..." he roars, standing up and turning toward Cain.

Cain turns around and notices him for the first time. The grin slides right off his face and he goes ashen in the time it takes for Encke to stride over and grab his collar.

"COME. WITH. ME. _NOW!"_

I miss most of what happens next because I'm busy throwing up again. When I look up, it's to see Encke literally throw Cain into an elevator before stomping in after him. 

I don't know if it's that or having all the puke out of my system, but for some reason, I feel better.

"Holy shit," says Jackson. 

He pulls my arm over his shoulders and helps me up.

"I've never seen Encke so pissed off," he chuckles. "He must like you!"

I whip my head around to see if he's serious. OW! Bad idea! And is he really that tall or am I just not standing up right? It's been a while since I had to look UP at anyone. And aren't redheads supposed to be practically extinct?

"Jesus, I was kidding! Quit giving me the evil eye!"

We're to the elevators before he realizes what he said. For some reason, his awkward apology seems really funny. So I snicker even though it hurts my head.

"No, this is the good eye. Already gave the evil one."

Then I'm not the only one having trouble standing because we're both laughing our asses off. Ethos retreats to the far corner of the elevator and looks at us like we're completely insane. And maybe we are, or at least I am. I feel at least half insane. But mostly tired. So fucking tired...

"Hey! Stay with me, buddy!"

Jackson isn't laughing anymore. He's supporting most of my weight and I have to work to lift my head off his shoulder. Shit, this is embarrassing.

"Mfine. Leggo."

"If I let go, then you'll what? Grow magic fairy wings and sparkle-flutter over to medical? Shut up and try to walk."

It's the longest 30 feet I've ever walked, but I won't be carried in again, goddammit. We make it somehow. Jackson talks to the nurse at the front, then helps me to a bed. I get on it and almost immediately fall into a dreamless sleep.

***

I wake up to that disgusting smell again, the sound of soft snoring, and the feeling of fingers wrapped around mine. I open my eyes--EYE--for FUCK sake!--and suddenly a lot of confused memories from last time I was here come clearer.

Because that is definitely Encke asleep in a chair and he is definitely holding my hand.


	24. Chapter 24

_He must like you!_

Yeah, apparently so. 

Before I can even start to decide how I feel about that, the door opens. The hallway is slightly brighter than my dim but not entirely dark room. I catch a backlit glimpse of a slim, long-haired figure before I shut my eye and pretend to still be asleep.

Quiet footsteps, then a whispered "Hey."

An annoyed huff, soft rustling, and a slightly louder "Hey!"

A startled hiss and Encke's hand is gone.

"Fuck, Keeler, don't DO that!"

"Shhh! And I could say the same to you," Keeler whispers. "You're not doing him any favors, you know."

"Tch. You just don't like--"

"I'll tell you what I don't like. I don't like my Navigators asking Ethos if you're really fucking his Fighter. I don't like you dropping everything to dash over and play nurse after a battle, then losing your temper in front of half the crew because someone decided to scare your--"

"But Cain--"

"Keep your voice down! I know what Cain did and he deserved what he got. I'm a little surprised he's in the brig instead of here, actually. But you made it personal. You can't afford that, and neither can Praxis. If you want to help him, leave him alone."

A pause, and then Keeler continues, in a softer whisper, "Don't forget what happened last time."

The chair scuds back a foot or so and hits the wall. I take another peek and see both of them standing, Encke towering over Keeler and pointing a finger in his face.

"This is NOT the same and don't you DARE try to use that against me," he growls.

Then he turns and stalks out the door.

Keeler sighs and rubs his temples. I close my eye again, hoping he'll go away.

Instead, he sits down and says, "I know you're awake."

Shit.

"It's OK. You don't have to say anything. I know you're hurt."

I study him, trying to gauge whether I'm recovered enough to shove him out of the room. Not that I'd really do that. Probably.

He smiles a little.

"I guess I'd give me that look too. We didn't exactly make good first impressions on each other, did we."

Heh. No, we really didn't.

His face turns serious again. He looks down at his hands, which are clenched in his lap.

"What I said to you then was unprofessional and uncalled-for. I apologize."

He looks at me, then back down.

"I've been...I have...experience with partner abuse. Domestic and Fighter/Navigator. So when Ethos said you didn't mean to hurt him, I thought he was just... I didn't listen. I'm sorry."

I understand. I still don't really believe it myself.

I extend my hand toward him. He grasps it and we shake. His hand is cool, smooth, delicate. I wish for a moment I could hold it longer. 

He's almost to the door when I whisper, "Me too."

He turns. "What?"

"Me too. Experience."

He's frowning now. Why did I even say anything?

"That's why. Why I... After I..."

I trace the scars on my wrists and try not to think about that horrible night. Try not to wonder what happened to my knife and whether I could steal a scalpel while I'm here. Try not to think of Ethos bleeding and terrified, Techne dead, Abel forced to live and work with a psychopath, and everyone else I've failed to protect.

When I look back up, Keeler is gone.


	25. Chapter 25

I wake up again to brighter light and loud, boisterous voices in the hallway. There's a clunk against my door and someone snaps, "No horseplay! And no more than two visitors at a time!" 

Which someone out there seems to think is hilarious.

Who the hell is making all that goddamn noise? They're probably here to see someone else. Might as well try to look halfway put-together anyway, just in case. 

Sitting up isn't too hard. My head still hurts, but I'm not dizzy or sick. There's a little table next to the bed with two pills in a little paper cup, a bigger cup of water, and my eye patch. Crap, that means Keeler saw me with it off. At least it was dark.

I realize I don't really mind that Encke saw me without it too. Store that thought away for later.

I've just gotten the damn thing back on when the door bursts open and Castor and Aramis practically fall in, laughing. Behind them, a very annoyed-looking medic puts his arm across the doorway to block Ethos and a Fighter I don't recognize from following them. 

"Ten minutes!" he barks as he closes the door.

Aramis flops into the chair and scoots it up to the side of my bed, grinning.

"Dude! How you feeling?"

"Like I took a window to the head with my helmet off," I grumble. "Better than yesterday, though."

"Where the fuck ya been?!"

Castor is reading my chart. "Hey, man, tone it down. This says he has a concussion. Yelling probably hurts his head."

"Shit, sorry," says Aramis, lowering his voice just slightly. "So where the fuck ya been?!"

"Uh...here," I tell him.

He snorts. "For almost two weeks? You only busted your ugly head yesterday. Where were you before that?"

Urgh. I thought I'd have more time to think of something to tell people.

"Brig," I answer. Which is technically true.

"Ha!" says Castor. "Told you! It's always the quiet ones."

"Then why hasn't Deimos killed us all by now?" Aramis asks his friend.

Castor shrugs and Aramis turns back to me. "So what'd you do?"

Beat the hell out of my Navigator, had a fucking breakdown, and tried to kill myself. Sort of. And stumbled into some weird confusing shit with my commanding officer, who apparently has a thing for me even after I threw a chunk of metal at his face. No accounting for taste.

"Busted Encke's ugly head."

"HA!" says Aramis, shooting Castor a smug look. "Told YOU he didn't get that lump in training! What'd you do, Prax, bean him with an engine part?"

"Yeah, that's exactly what I did."

Aramis laughs so loud it really does hurt my head. I expect Castor to join in, but he's still staring at my chart with a uncomfortable expression. It looks weird on him since he's usually so jovial and open. 

Oh, FUCK. That chart probably has all kinds of details about last time I was here. Please keep your mouth shut, Castor. Please keep your mouth shut. Please...

Aramis notices me wincing. Fortunately, he jumps to the wrong conclusion.

"Aw, crap, I was being loud again. Sorry, dude."

I tell him it's OK as Castor puts the chart back where he found it and sits down on the foot of the bed. A moment later, his smile is back, but it doesn't reach his eyes. 

"Did you see Encke drag Cain off to the brig after that stunt of his yesterday?" Aramis asks.

"Trying to kill me and my Nav is a 'stunt?'"

Aramis rolls his eyes. "Cain's an asshole, but he's the best shot on the Sleipnir. If he'd wanted to hit you, he would have."

Probably true. But if Ethos had panicked and screwed up the evasion, we still could have died.

"Anyway," says Aramis, "You know what his problem was, right?"

"Uh...he's an asshole?"

"Heh. I mean his particular problem yesterday when he shot at you."

"No idea."

Castor hands me a tablet.

"Take a look at the top three kill scores from that battle."

\---  
1 - Tiberius: 10  
2 - Reliant: 8  
2 - Xanadu: 8  
3 - Solstice: 7  
\---

I get confused about the fact that there's four of them when he said the top three. Is the concussion making me read it wrong? Then I notice who came in first. 

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

"Nope!" 

Aramis grins wolfishly.

"Dude, you should get hit in the head more often!"

The medic comes back then and kicks them out. Castor is still uncharacteristically quiet and doesn't look at me as he leaves.

I'm ready to leave too, but the medic insists on keeping me for "observation." He checks the stitches in my scalp--when did I get those?--and wants to know why I haven't taken my pills. I tell him I don't take pills unless I know what they are, and he says he already explained twice that they're painkillers. Either he's lying or my memory of the last 24 hours has some serious holes. 

Maybe this observation thing is a good idea after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, he's STILL in medical. AGAIN. I promise he'll get out next chapter.
> 
> The_Word_Arranger came up with Xanadu as the name of Keeler and Encke's ship. She also wrote a quality fic by that name. Go read it.


	26. Chapter 26

I thought the battle was over. I thought we were safe. Then an alarm. A jolt, not even the biggest we've taken today, and he goes quiet.

No cry of pain or choked, agonized sound this time. Just nothing.

Shouting from the radio. "Didn't mean it" and "that idiot" and "why the fuck didn't they dodge."

Even through the horrible deja vu as I claw my way between compartments, even after a hundred other trips to my own personal hell, I still think I might be wrong. It might still be OK.

Of course it's not OK. He's barely alive. Losing blood fast. Can't even tell where it's coming from.

My brave little yappy dog is about to be silenced forever and nothing will ever be OK again.

No more lather rinse repeat. No more fucking repeats of anything. If this happens, I am fucking done. 

I _can't_ lose another one.

***

I wake up on the floor, heart pounding, hands and feet throbbing from fighting the wall. 

Sit up slowly. Assess my condition. Headache, thirsty, feels like my big ugly nose is bloody. 

Crying again. Ugh. Stop that right the fuck now!

Strong enough to walk.

Can't stay here. One episode like that with a medic "observing" and they'll know something is really wrong with me. Worse than the concussion or the eye or even the half-assed suicide attempt. 

Crazy people aren't treated well where I come from. No reason to think it's any different here.

Where the hell are my clothes? Ah. 

Get dressed. Fumble around with the stupid patch. Finally get it on. Wonder who the hell keeps taking it off me while I'm passed out and why. 

More pills on the bedside table. Just painkillers, my ass. Pocket them for next time I can't sleep.

Most of my left toes hurt. Probably broke them falling out of bed or kicking the wall.

Limp to the door. Takes two tries to get it open.

It's still light. Should I wait for dark? No, too late. Someone's already walking down the hall toward me.

Fuck, it's Abel. And he's seen me.

"Oh! Hi! Are you feeling better? Oh no, you're bleeding!"

"Yes. No. Huh? No I'm not. What?"

Smooth.

He hands me a tissue. I stare at it like the idiot I am.

"For your nose...?"

Oh. Right. It IS bleeding. Shit.

"Uh..th-thanks. SorryIalmostbarfedonyou."

"What?"

Is his hair as soft as it looks? I really want to touch it. Just enough of my brain is working to know I can't.

"The hell's taking so long, Princess?!" a familiar voice snarls from a nearby room.

Abel winces. 

"I have to go. Take care."

***

I make it back to my room without further incident and start shoving my stuff into my duffel bag.

Ethos should just be getting out of the lab around now, and he'll probably stop to talk to some of the other Navs. With luck, I'll have time to get--

"Oh! Praxis!"

Crap.

"What are you doing?"

What does it look like I'm doing?

"Packing."

"But...we still haven't been reassigned."

Ugh. How is he not getting this? I want to yell at him, but I just can't.

I put my duffel down, walk up to where he's sitting cross-legged on the edge of his top bunk, and take both of his soft little hands in mine.

"Ethos. It doesn't matter. I hurt you badly because I dreamed I was hitting someone. What if I'd dreamed I was strangling him?"

That actually shuts him up for a minute. Either he doesn't say "Oh!" for once or the sound of my few possessions being tucked away drowns it out.

"You hurt yourself worse," he says softly.

God DAMN it! Does everyone know?! I'm going to kick the fucking shit out of Castor!

Ethos must have some idea what I'm thinking. 

"I was there when Encke brought you into medical. You were kind of, um. Bleeding. A lot."

Oh yeah. 

"Who else was there?"

"Just some medics and nurses in the triage area. And Keeler. I think he was getting a blood test or something. Encke took you straight through to a private room and made them go in there to help you. He was really upset!"

"I bet he was. That must have been a bitch to clean up."

"Praxis..."

I turn away from my packing to glare at him. Ask, "What?!" more harshly than I mean to.

"I know you didn't mean it."

"Yeah?" I snap. "That's what my mom said to my stepdad after he almost killed her! TWICE!"

"Was he asleep too?" 

His quick response startles me.

"What? No. Just drunk."

"Then it's different."

Maybe. Still doesn't matter. 

I've got almost all my stuff in the duffel when he asks, "Your stepfather...did he hurt you too?"

That's none of his fucking business. Judging by his expression, he knows that. I try to tell him so, but what comes out is, "Y-yeah."

I don't know which of us is more surprised. 

"What did you do?" he whispers, wide-eyed.

"Got bigger. Learned to fight."

"And...your mom? I mean...is she...is she safe now?"

After more than ten years, I can still smell the dust and oil of the ancient shotgun. Hear the "chk-chk" as I chamber a round. See his handsome, horrible face over the barrel, white with fear, no trace of his usual sneer. Feel years of hurt, humiliation, and rage surging through me. 

"She's fine," I tell Ethos. "He left."

Then I leave too.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: More child abuse.

I planned to go sit on the catwalk in the server room and watch all the little lights blink on and off, but I'm stumbling before I make it 100 yards. The floor seems to be undulating, the duffel is twice as unwieldy as usual, and I'm bone tired again after being awake less than an hour.

OK, change of plan. Find a disused storage room. Haul my big stupid awkward bag and big stupid awkward self inside. 

Doesn't take a genius or even a bright yappy dog to figure out what I'm going to relive when I go to sleep. So I just lock the door, lie down between a bunch of crates, and wait for it.

Don't have to wait long.

It's the night after my fifteenth birthday. My mom and stepdad wake me up arguing for the thousandth time. I can't make out their words, but at least it doesn't sound like he's hitting her.

Then I hear him storm into the hall, shouting, "Fine, you cunt, I'll fuck HER!"

I think he's talking about a mistress and vaguely hope he leaves us for her until the door to my sister's room bangs open and she gives a startled cry.

I go cold with the realization.

And something fucking SNAPS.

I'm in my sister's room, pulling him off her by the hair.

GET

I'm in the hall closet, loading my grandmother's shotgun.

OUT

I'm dragging him down the stairs, pants still hanging half off his ass, dimly realizing for the first time I'm stronger than him now.

GET OUT

I'm on the lawn in front of our building, smelling dust and oil. 

GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT

"Come on, son, don't be like tha--"

NOT YOUR FUCKING SON

Chk-chk.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OR I WILL KILL YOU," I roar in a voice that hardly sounds like mine.

I mean it. 

I think.

Until I hesitate too long and he takes a step toward me. Fear starts to trickle in through my rage. 

"You're not going to shoot me, you fucking pansy."

He's right. I'm not.

CRACK!

He yelps and grabs his arm, then stares in shock at something behind me.

Click. Ting.

I turn around and see my sister holding my old BB gun, regarding him with a look that should never appear on a thirteen-year-old's face.

She lifts the gun to her shoulder, aims it steadily at his head, and speaks for all the world like she's commenting on the weather.

"Next one's going in your eye."

And he believes her. 

He didn't believe me for long, but he believes her.

I raise the shotgun again, but he's already walking away. 

He's almost to the road when he turns and shouts my mother's name and "This isn't over, bitch!"

I deliberately shoot over his head and he breaks into a run.

Frozen in place, we watch him flee. Stare, not breathing, not blinking, until he's out of sight.

My vision starts to swim. Buzzing fills my head as I fall to my knees.

Then I'm not outside on a cold, scraggly lawn on Europa. I'm lying in a storage closet on a battleship, twisted up between musty crates.

My head hurts like a motherfucker and my tablet is buzzing like a city of hornets burrowing in through my ears. And of course it's all the way at the bottom of my duffel, so I have to dig through everything else, flinging clothes, booze bottles, and fuck knows what aside before I reach the damn thing. Grab it, fumble, drop it, hit it, and it finally shuts up. 

The light from the screen burns right through my eye into my brain and I can't remember how to turn it off. When does anyone ever do that anyway.

Covering my face with one hand, I bury the thing again until there's no more light, then fish a pain pill out of my pocket, swallow it with the help of the nearest bottle of moonshine/cleaning fluid/god knows, drain the bottle, and wait until sweet oblivion comes to take me away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's lesson was called How Not To Take Care of a Concussion. Thank you, Praxis.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd we're back. I hope certain revelations help make up for the wait.

For once, there are no dreams. At least none that I remember. Definitely not the kind where I wake up shaking with terror or trying to kill the wall.

At some point, I stagger out to find a bathroom, shielding my face from the light and working my way down the corridor half by touch. Mission accomplished. No one saw me.

Head hurts like hell again. Drain another bottle. Drink some water too so I don't throw up. 

Fucking buzzing. Fumble with tablet. SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT--ah.

Go back to sleep. 

Do the whole thing again.

Lather rinse repeat.

Get most of my stuff back in my duffel and make a nest out of clothes. Lie there quiet. Drinking and thinking and staring at the ceiling or the dim shape of the crate in front of me. 

It's nice. Peaceful, almost.

The pain in my head gradually lessens until the dim night lighting in the corridors and bathrooms is merely an annoyance. Next time I wake up, I dig out my tablet and cautiously take a look.

 

FROM: Medical Officer Hastings  
TO: Fighter Praxis  


You have not been discharged. Return to the Medical Bay.

 

FROM: Lead Fighter Encke  
TO: Fighter Praxis  


Return to medical immediately. 

 

FROM: Lead Fighter Encke  
TO: Fighter Praxis  


Get your ass back to medical NOW. Do NOT make me come find you.

 

Well, that was pretty much expected. I wonder for a moment why Encke hasn't found me yet before I remember my RFID chip was deactivated when I transferred to the Sleipnir. 

 

FROM: Navigator Ethos  
TO: Fighter Praxis  


Are you okay? Encke is looking for you. He seems really mad! He said he was going to throttle the MO for letting you out! o.o Maybe you should go back to the med bay? Perseus is also looking for you. He's the Fighter from the Pleiad, the one we helped. He's really nice! :) He helped me fix up the Tiberius yesterday when you weren't there. I mean, I'm not mad or anything. I know you're injured. We should really train together more once we're both up to it, though, you know? My hand wasn't broken, just bruised pretty badly, and should be good to go by tomorrow. :) Did you see our score from Thursday? We could do even better with more practice! :) Oh, and Pollux asked about you too. He said his Fighter was worried. I guess he must be Castor? Very original, right? Haha! So, anyway, I think all the roaches are gone. Deimos saw one last night but that was the first in weeks. He threw a knife through it! o.o Do all Fighters know how to do that? I hope you do because I saw something weird crawling on your bunk and Phobos said it sounded like a giant scorpTAP TO READ MORE

 

Guh. Hi to you too, Yappy. Met a nice Fighter who needs a new Navigator, huh? Excellent.

 

FROM: Fighter Aramis  
TO: Fighter Praxis  


dude where tf r u?? enckes gonna kick ur ass 4 missin pt again. castors freakin out to hes like thinks ur dead or some shit. man just msg him so he stfu!!

 

Fair enough.

 

FROM: Lead Fighter Encke  
TO: Fighter Praxis  


You're not in trouble. No one's going to give you shit. Just tell me where you are.

 

Yeah, right.

For no particular reason, I scroll up again, back in time, watch words fly by. Old schedules, Castor asking for poker tips, jokes, other Fighters being dicks, Ethos being annoying, gossip, all kinds of crap I have no idea why people send me. Stop at random.

 

FROM: Fighter Praxis  
TO: Fighter Lilith  


Hey sis. Sorry I didn't msg right after the attack. I'm alive, obviously. I'm getting transferred off the station to a ship for some mission so I may not be in touch for a while. Don't tell Mom or she'll worry herself sick. Say hi to Aunt Ava and Uncle Sergios.

 

FROM: Fighter Lilith  
TO: Fighter Praxis  


wtf bro its been like a day! >:(  
guess u cant b 2 hurt 2 transfer tho.. whens that? techne ok 2?  
g2g train  
omg eve wait 1 sec! fuckin navs amirite??

 

Never answered that one.

Scroll more. 

Stop almost immediately because there's the message I've been trying so hard not to read again. The one I almost managed to forget.

 

FROM: Navigator Techne  
TO: Fighter Praxis  


I love you.  
Sorry if this freaks you out. I know it's not really something Fighters do, and that's okay. You don't have to say it back. You show me every day.  
Whatever happens, I want you to know what we have is real.  
Jason

 

Never answered that one either.

Tried, at least.

 

DRAFT  
FROM: Fighter Praxis  
TO: Navigator Techne  


I'm not freaked out. OK, maybe a little.  
I lo

 

DRAFT  
FROM: Fighter Praxis  
TO: Navigator Techne  


Hey, watch it with the stereotypes. Fighters can have feelings too. We're not ALL assholes. Just most of us. ;) I 

 

DRAFT  
FROM: Fighter Praxis  
TO: Navigator Techne  


Why wouldn't it be real? I know you're not with me for my money or social connections. :P  
I love y  
FFS WHY IS THIS SO HARD

 

Ten minutes after that last attempt, I had to go to PT. 

Five hours later, he was dead.

Three months too late, I give it another try. 

 

FROM: Fighter Praxis  
TO: Navigator Techne  


Of course I love you, Jason. You were the best thing that ever happened to me.  
I'm so sorry I failed you.  
I will love you as long as I live. Which probably won't be long thanks to this fucked up mission I'm on now so I guess if I'm lucky I'll see you soon.  
Stavros

 

I spend a ridiculously long time fixing all the typos, hit SEND before I can think better of it, then stare at "INVALID RECIPIENT" as my vision blurs with tears and starts to darken.

No. Can't sleep yet. There's another message that needs answering. Oh, hell. THREE other messages. 

Eh. I know how to handle this...

 

FROM: Fighter Praxis  
TO: Lead Fighter Encke, Fighter Aramis, Fighter Castor, Navigator Ethos  


I'm fine,,just fell asleep. Sorry

 

A response comes less than a minute later.

 

FROM: Lead Fighter Encke  
TO: Fighter Praxis  


You "just fell asleep" for 3 DAYS?  
WHERE. ARE. YOU.

 

Fuck it. Fine. I'm really hungry and my head feels a lot better. Except for, you know, the whole drunk thing. Might as well get this over with.

 

FROM: Fighter Praxis  
TO: Lead Fighter Encke  


Stprage closet dormss lvl c HAll 7

 

I suck down my last bottle. Rest my head on my arm. 

And close my eye

for just

a

moment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the fairly unlikely event that (a) anyone cared about Praxis's real name in the first place, and (b) said hypothetical person(s) are now disappointed that they didn't have longer to guess, Stavros is actually his middle name. He doesn't like his first name because it's easily shortened to an unflattering nickname that he was widely known by in school; so, if you like, you can still try and guess what THAT is.


	29. Chapter 29

A fluffy little dog yaps and whines nervously at a closed door.

An amber-eyed panther stalks through a maze.

A wiry young tigress drops a putrid bag of garbage at my feet and asks if I'll help her dig a hole.

I tear my way between compartments in a broken Starfighter and find a gorgeous, shimmering ice dragon, all crystalline scales and intertwined platinum markings. Its frigid blue gaze freezes me in place. Pierces right into my fucking soul. 

"--axis? Can you hear m--" 

The dragon narrows its eyes, lifts my arms up in front of my face, and makes sure I'm watching before it shreds my wrists with its icy talons.

"--d still! Stop it! Sto--AGH! Son of a--"

Its weight is pressing down on me, talons coming toward my face now, and every one of them looks like Cain's knife--

"TIBERIUS! WAKE THE FUCK UP!"

I do, but it takes a moment for my body to catch up to my brain and stop fighting.

"It's OK! Baby, it's OK! It's me, it's Encke! I'm not going to hurt you!"

Then why are you holding me down?!

"GAH...get OFF!"

He does, retreating quickly like I'm dangerous, and we scramble away from each other. I hit my head on a shelf in exactly the wrong place and can't help letting out a groan as I see stars. 

When they clear, I'm sitting propped against the wall and Encke's side as he holds a bottle in front of my face and asks, "How much of this shit did you drink?"

I blink at it. Pull my head off his shoulder. Sit up straighter. 

"Um... All of it?"

He growls and lets the back of his head thunk against the wall. I expect to get yelled at, but he stays quiet for so long that I start to get confused.

"What am I going to do with you?" he finally mutters.

"Dunno. Brig again?" I suggest.

He's on my left, so I hear rather than see him shake his head.

"We'll be entering Colteron space within 20 days. We need everyone available to deal with potential threats."

I guess that makes sense.

"Leave me alone like Keeler said?"

This time I hear a shift and a sharp intake of breath. I expect questions about how much of that conversation I heard, defensive posturing, admonitions to mind my own business.

Instead, he just sighs, lets the breath out slowly, and asks quietly, "Do you want me to leave you alone?"

I almost died once because he left me alone. And then he came back and probably saved my life.

I force down the selfish, pathetic wish that the man who definitely saved my life was half as interested and whisper, "No."

***

Fifteen minutes later, I'm installed in a sleeping bag in the little kitchen behind Encke's office, watching him pack his stash of booze into a duffel as he gives me instructions.

"Stay in your room until half an hour after lights out. Be out of here half an hour before reveille. Don't leave a mess. Anyone sees you going in or out, you were cleaning it as a punishment. Feel free to bitch about what an asshole I am for making you stay up late or get up early to finish. You are excused from PT tomorrow, but I expect you back the day after. And Tiberius?"

"Yeah--Uh, yes, sir?"

"I've set my door to recognize you and alert me if you're carrying any weapons. Do NOT try to bring a knife in here again."

"Yes, sir."

He squats by me and touches the back of my hand, smiling just slightly.

"Good night, Praxis."

"Good night, Encke." 

As he leaves and I start to drift off, I wonder how I'm going to get the three knives I stole from one of the storage crates back out.


	30. Chapter 30

As it turns out, getting the knives out of Encke's office is easy. I just toss them through the open doorway ahead of me in the morning. Which makes sense. Me + knives = trouble. Just me or just knives, which I'd guess over half of the Fighters and at least a few Navigators carry, is nothing unusual. 

Things more or less go back to normal after that. Whatever normal means anymore. 

I do my exercises. Run my laps. Eat. Go to briefings. Do occasional busywork for Bering. Make myself train with Ethos. We actually improve a bit as a team.

Cain is there in PT when I return, 18 days from Colteron space, but apart from some venomous glares, he leaves me alone. 

One of Encke's full lips is split and swollen for a few days. I'm pretty sure that's my fault, but I don't get a chance to ask since we're never in his office at the same time.

At 17 days to go, Perseus, the Pleiad's Fighter, accosts me after lunch with effusive thanks. He's smallish for a Fighter, but makes up for it in presence with a booming voice, very expressive face and gestures, and loud, braying laugh. 

He follows me to the martial arts sims, and during the five-minute walk, I learn more about him than I ever wanted to know: home (Europa Colony 2,) family (youngest of four brothers,) religion (Catholic,) plans for after the war (marry his girlfriend and work at his aunt's restaurant,) and opinion of the mess hall's tacos (loud gagging noises and claims that his mama would never allow such a thing in her house, let alone call it food.) 

I can see why Ethos gets along with Perseus. Personally, I'm not sure whether I want to laugh or deck him. I invite him to poker instead because I'm sure he'll be awful at it.

That jerk from the Scorpio, Cain's buddy who dropped the barbell on my foot, gives me some shit about how Encke came running to help me after the battle. I ignore it until 15 days left in Alliance space, when his comments go from suggestive to downright lewd. Then I get up in his face, taking full advantage of the two inches and 35 pounds I have on him, and ask if he wants to repeat that. He glances around, realizes Cain and his other lackeys aren't there to back him up this time, and that's the end of that.

Deimos is nowhere to be seen, then shows up in the mess hall at ETA: 13 days with a knee brace and his arm in a sling. Of course I wasn't the only one hurt in that battle. I guess Cain was visiting Deimos in medical when he interrupted my conversation with Abel on my way out. Still doesn't explain how he got out of the brig so fast. 

12 days from Colteron space, Abel smiles brightly at me and asks how I'm doing, then gets distracted chatting with another Nav and doesn't notice me fumbling to come up with an answer. As he turns away, I think I glimpse a bruise peeking out of his collar. Or maybe it was a trick of the light.

Every night, I wait until half an hour after lights out, then slip out of my room. Sometimes I wander for hours, but I usually end up in either Encke's little suite, or, more often, the Fighter base level. 

It doesn't take long to win more booze. Most people seem to know to offer it to me instead of money now. I guess I've earned a reputation as a drunk as well as a card shark. And probably an asshole for telling people to fuck off when they ask where I was for so long. 

Castor starts to make a quip about that once, then glances at me and trails off. He's always nervous around me now, ever since he read my chart in medical. Smile strained, trying a little too hard to be funny. Like he thinks if he's _not cheerful_ for one goddamn second, I'll flip out again. Maybe beat the crap out of him this time. Or, gods forbid, try to talk to him about it. 

On the upside, it really doesn't help his poker game. 

I still win more than I lose, especially since Perseus is just as bad as I expected and half the others seem to see folding as a blow to their manhood, but Jackson wipes us all out one night with a straight flush. He's the only frequent player who can usually read my expressions, even when I deliberately set the patch a bit crooked and everyone else is busy trying to get a peek behind it.

Our 10th-to-last night in Alliance space, I happen to be wandering past Keeler's office when I hear muffled laughter and shushing. I duck into an alcove just in time before the door opens and Porthos stumbles out, hurriedly shucking on his jacket. Two minutes later, Keeler emerges, smiling and rebraiding his hair as he walks off in the opposite direction.

Straight, my ass.

Two mornings later, Ethos is already awake when I stop by our room. I can tell he's about to yap out a bunch of questions, so I head him off with the truth. No, I'm not getting fucked by the Lead Fighter. Yes, he lets me sleep in his office. So I don't kill you in my sleep. That OK with you? Good.

The nightmares don't go away, but as Colteron space and probable death loom closer, Techne shows up in other dreams too. I never remember much when I wake up. Just his eyes, or his laugh, or his hair all messed up and both of us smirking about how it got that way. 

Once, I see him sitting on what looks like a park bench, twirling his hair and looking around expectantly like he's waiting for someone.


	31. Chapter 31

One night, I'm really not in the mood to deal with Fighter bullshit in general and Castor's uncomfortable looks in particular, so I go straight to the little kitchen behind Encke's office and get in my sleeping bag.

I've been playing a game on my tablet for a while when I hear the outer door open. Shit! I look for somewhere to hide, but it's too late. Whoever it is has already come into the room.

"Jesus, Tiberius, I'm not going to eat you!"

I realize I was holding my breath. And crouching, ready to fight or flee. What the hell? I'm not usually that jumpy.

Encke drops another sleeping bag next to me and stomps to the bathroom. 

By the time he comes back, I've calmed down enough to ask, "Do you want me to leave?"

"No. Just scoot over. And turn that fucking thing off!"

I scoot over. I still can't remember how to turn my tablet off, but I put it in my duffel under some clothes.

He shakes out his sleeping bag, smacks it down next to me again, and gets in it, flopping over with an annoyed grunt.

No way can I sleep right now anyway, so I just stay still and see what he does. He tosses and turns for a few minutes, barely visible in the near-darkness. Two feet away. Close enough to touch if I wanted to.

Which, OK, I do want to. I may have a thing for skinny pretty boys, but I know a very handsome, very well-built man when I see one. I'd be lying if I said I didn't find him attractive. And he clearly likes me for whatever reason, or else I wouldn't be here. In more than one sense of the phrase. 

"Can't sleep either?" I whisper.

He mutters something about "Keeler" and "typing" and "won't leave that crap at the lab."

Well, shit. If he thinks Keeler is annoying to room with, he's not going to take my nightmares too well. I should get out now. Go before he finds out just how fucked up I am.

I start to get up. Can't help jumping again when I feel his hand on my arm.

"Where are you going?"

Good question.

"Uh...out?"

His hand is warm and solid. Comforting at the same time as it makes the whole situation even more awkward as fuck.

"You're free to leave any time, of course. But... I don't know about you, but I could really use a drink."

I decide not to mention the fact that I've already had most of a bottle as he turns on the light (OW! You could have warned me!) and fishes what smells like rum out of his duffel. He pours us each a shot and sits down on his sleeping bag. As I adjust to the light, I realize he's in just his shorts. Like I am. Which really doesn't make anything less awkward. Not that I'm complaining.

Three shots later, things are decidedly less awkward. I don't even know how it started, but somehow we're having the easiest, most natural conversation I've had with anyone since Castor read my chart. No, longer than that. Since those precious hours Techne and I spent wrapped in each other's arms, whispering late into the night. About the war, our hopes and fears, our families--

"You got a family?" I blurt out.

Encke looks surprised for a second, then takes another shot and says, "Parents. Both Alliance."

"My mom and sister too," I reply. "My sister's a Fighter. Mom was a nurse."

"And your dad?"

He frowns and sucks in a breath almost immediately. 

"Sorry. None of my business."

I smile and take a swig straight from the bottle. "What are we, Navs? It's fine. My dad's been dead for 15 years. Did construction before that."

He's frowning again. Crap, maybe he has a thing about not drinking from the bottle?

"Sorry," I say, and go to fill the shot glasses again.

He grabs the bottle out of my hand and takes a swig too.

"Tch. What are we, girls?"

"Don't let my sister hear you say that," I tell him. "She'll kick your ass."

He laughs.

"If my mom could hear what either of us just said, she'd kick both our asses."

"Your mom's a Nav?"

"Yep. Commander now, actually."

"Oh. Then wh--"

Why are you just a Fighter? 

For once, I manage not to say something stupid.

"Uh, where is she posted?"

Based on the sideways look from his narrowed eyes, I'm pretty sure he knows exactly what I was going to ask. But he just smiles slightly and says, "Station 5."

"Oh," I reply, "That's where my sister..."

Something clicks.

"Valkyrie is your MOM?!"

Valkyrie is one of the most famous and highly decorated Commanders of the past ten years. She graduated from the Navigational Academy at the top of her class, then rose quickly through the ranks thanks to her technical brilliance. According to my sister, she's also a real hardass; strict, and tough as a Fighter. Won't put up with any bullshit from her subordinates or anyone else. And, according to most straight guys I've known, she's a total hottie. Or was 15 years ago, at least. My best friend had a pinup of her in his locker at school.

Encke laughs and rolls his eyes.

"If I had a credit for every time I've heard that..."

Things blur together after that. I'm pretty sure I'm drinking more than my share of the rum, but he doesn't seem to mind. We both visit the bathroom a couple times and seem to inch closer to each other every time we come back. 

Eventually, we're sitting with our backs to the wall, shoulder to shoulder, leaning against each other just a bit, and he's talking animatedly about how he's had it up to here with finding garbage and the occasional passed-out Fighter in our base level every goddamn morning and the next dipshit he catches treating the ship like their own personal dumpster is going to do pushups until they barf. 

Meanwhile, I'm just kind of staring at him and trying to pretend I'm not. You can't see them from more than a foot or two away, but he has a smattering of freckles across his nose and a bunch more on his arms. Since when do black people come with freckles?

"Since my granddaddy married an Irish redhead who has about a billion of them."

Shit! Did I say tha--

"Yes, you said that out loud. Oh, calm down! That's nowhere near the dumbest thing I've heard today."

"Heh. So what's the dumbest thing you've heard today?" 

He chuckles, then puts on a mock-serious thinking face.

"Hmm... That would probably be a tie between 'Hold my drink and watch this' and 'Just leave it, Encke won't notice.'"

I try to laugh and some rum goes down the wrong pipe. Encke thumps me on the back and takes the bottle from me. 

"I think that's enough. Let's call it a night."

Yeah. Good idea. I didn't realize it until he said that, but I'm really sleepy. Or maybe just drunk. Not sure there's a difference anymore.

After the throat-burning rotgut I usually drink, I guess the nice, smooth rum kind of snuck up on me. I don't realize how much until I wake up with no memory of going to sleep or even lying down. It's dark now and I'm sprawled half on my sleeping bag and half on the floor. I can't see shit, but I can hear deep, even breathing. Between me and the bathroom, naturally, and I really have to pee.

I somehow make it without tripping over Encke or my own stupid feet, but stumble against the shower stall with a loud clunk when I go to flush the toilet. Graceful as ever.

He's still asleep when I get out, lying on his back with his arm across his chest, face turned toward where I was lying. Was he watching me sleep? That annoys me a little, but part of me likes the idea. 

I don't think about it. Don't even know I'm going to do it. There are a million good reasons not to, but somehow none of them seems important as I sit back down, take a deep breath, then lean over and kiss him. 

I swear my heart fucking stops.

Fortunately (or unfortunately?) he doesn't wake up.

Before I have a chance to regret it, I find the rest of the rum, chug it, and barely make it back to my sleeping bag because holy SHIT that stuff's stronger than it tastes.

I'm just on the edge of passing out again when a strong arm snakes around my chest and warm breath whispers in my ear.

"Touché."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confused? Look at the end of chapter 17 again.


	32. Chapter 32

I catch just a glimpse as I walk into Bering's office, trying to pretend I didn't just have to run halfway across the station to not be late. 

Typical Navigator build, white uniform, blond hair. 

"...assigning you...Tiberius...Techne and Praxis...dismissed."

Don't look at him too hard in the elevator either. Studying the map on my tablet. Trying not to get lost.

Door closes behind us.

Finally look up, and oh my gods is he beautiful.

Briefings. PT. Can't concentrate on a goddamn thing all afternoon. Can't decide whether I'm more excited or nervous to be alone with him again. Then he's waiting in our room when I get back and I make up my mind pretty damn quick.

A radiant smile.

A naughty smirk.

Big dark eyes and that hair, wavy and just long enough to brush his shoulders, almost white with golden highlights. Just as silky as it looks. I could play with it all day.

Kissing, soft and warm and then insistent. Hands everywhere, tracing electricity across my skin. 

Two sets of clothes strewn on the floor.

I get nervous again, freeze up. Sit hugging my knees.

"You've never done this before, have you?"

I look away, not wanting to disappoint him.

"That's so sweet!"

No one's called me that since I was little.

"Don't worry," he murmurs against the side of my neck. "I'll teach you..."

...And I jolt awake, still feeling a ghostly tingle where Techne's lips and hands were. I expect to be cold and alone, but I'm on my side with someone's chest pressed against my back and their warm arms wrapped around me and just for an instant my heart leaps because I think--

No. Of course not. 

Praxis, you MORON. 

It's just Encke, blinking awake as I lurch back. Put distance between us. Make sure we both still have our shorts on. 

He sits up, reaches for me, face and voice full of concern.

And I could fucking kill him. That or cling to him, sob, and never stop.

Instead, I pull my pants on as fast as I can, grab my duffel, and run like hell.


	33. Chapter 33

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I LIKE Encke. I KNOW Techne is gone.

What the HELL.

I'm curled up between musty crates again, bent and twisted as my racing thoughts because I don't fit right anywhere on this floating fucking death trap. 

OK. OK. Deep breaths. Calm down.

Pick up a crate and hurl it against the wall. Watch it smash and a small cascade of MREs slither out. Kick another one until it breaks.

THAT IS NOT CALMING DOWN. STOP IT.

Sit/fall. Half-heartedly throw a food packet across the room. Open another one and sniff it. When was the last time I ate?

Eat. Dig out a bottle. Drink. Feel my heart stop hammering as edges go blurry again. That's better.

Think. Use your brain for once if you have one.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

It's not like Techne would want me to become a monk or something. Hell, he practically encouraged me to mess around while he was alive. 

Is it EVER a good idea to date your boss?

If you'll both probably be dead in a bit over a week, does it matter?

Why does Encke even like me? I was far from pretty even when I had a whole face, and as for personality, the most frequent adjectives people come up with are various synonyms for 'awkward' and 'stupid.' 

Is it just pity, then? 

No, if it was just pity, he wouldn't have kissed me. 

Unless he gets off on that. Being a knight in shiny black flight suit armor. Defending the weak.

Oh, please. Like I'm a fucking princess. If that was Encke's deal, there are dozens of others he could have picked, starting with his own Navigator. I know Keeler can be mean as hell behind all his sunny smiles, but there's a certain fragility about him too. And he certainly looks the part. And if "I'm straight" was just his way of saying "Fuck off, Praxis," then...

Getting off track here.

What do *I* want?

Close eyes. EYE. Goddammit. 

Wait.

Breathe. 

What do I want? 

Funny you should ask, Praxis. Here's what I fucking want.

I want to NOT be stuck in close quarters with a bunch of crazy assholes and chirpy twits and pretty braniacs who are so far out of my league we might as well be different species. I want to NOT be hurtling through the cold, unforgiving void toward territory no one has ever returned from. I want my fucking eye back. I want my beautiful partner back who I barely had a chance to love before he was gone. And my dad. And my self-respect. Assuming I ever had any.

So, since I can't have any of that, what can I make do with? What's the next best thing? 

For a moment, I feel Encke holding me again, warm and solid and sure. Hear him saying, "It's OK, baby, it's me, it's OK..."

Then something else entirely.

A broken Starfighter. Alarms. Pain. Blood. Terror. And then...

"Tiberius, this is the Reliant! We're coming to you!"

I could live a hundred lifetimes and never be so glad to hear a human voice.

No. Don't think about that. 

Big dark eyes in a pale, refined face. Platinum streaked with gold. 

"Oh! Praxis, are YOU all right?"

A lightning stab of joy because he cares.

No. DON'T.

A radiant smile riven with a scar.

GOD FUCKING DAMN IT. 

***

Of course, in the end, it doesn't matter what I want.

Less than two hours later, Bering calls me to his office. He keeps me waiting in the hall for at least 15 minutes. When the door finally opens, Encke stalks out wearing a look of barely controlled rage. I try to catch his eye, wondering what's going on, but I might as well be invisible as he strides determinedly past me.

I don't register in detail everything Bering says, but I get the general idea. I am to remain in my assigned quarters between 2200 and 0500. Officers' offices are for official business only. Manufacture and consumption of alcohol are strictly prohibited. So is fraternization, although "relations" between teammates are often overlooked. Also, the Alliance has been known to look the other way when an enlisted man wants to "look out for his career" by "currying favor in the RIGHT quarters."

He somehow managed to wander to the near side of his desk without me quite realizing it until he's right up in my face. 

I go rigid but don't move. Don't give an inch as he slithers closer. 

I used to get in trouble as a kid for "giving dirty looks." In high school and basic, I got comments and laughs about my "death glare." 

I've never actually done it on purpose before.

Fucking touch me, you disgusting old pervert. Go on. Do it. Give me one more reason to crush your filthy throat or punch bone shards from your nose into your putrid brain. Push me. One. More. Inch.

I guess it works, even with only one eye to glare from. He trails off and dismisses me. Maybe it's wishful thinking, or maybe he looks just a bit shaken.

Since I'm an idiot, I return to Encke's office that night and type in the code four times before I realize it's been changed. 

Even then, I still don't really get it until PT the next day.

Where once his eyes sought me out, they now look right through me. I stand right in front of him until everyone else is heading for the door. Deliberately screw up in PT the day after. Even bump shoulders with him in the halls twice, but it's like I don't exist.

I don't know why I'm surprised. After all, what was the very first thing I heard him say?

_I like things by the book._

Taking an interest in a mere Fighter, letting him sleep in your office, fucking cuddling his sorry ass after he kisses you and then passes out drunk, is definitely not by the book. Apparently he just needed Bering to remind him.

And so, with one week left in Alliance space, Encke and his strange kindness and two stolen kisses become one more thing I try not to think about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's lesson was called How To Be Gross And Make Your Subordinates Hate You. Thank you, Bering.


	34. Chapter 34

Everyone reacts differently during the last few days of the countdown to Colteron territory. Ethos goes downright quiet and his big goofy grin mostly disappears. Cain gets even surlier and starts making snarly comments and threatening gestures at me again. Castor is louder and his jokes get more grating until even Aramis is fed up and tells him to give it a fucking rest. 

Our last PT in Alliance space, Encke stops us after five laps, yells at the three slowest, then tells us all to fuck off before practically running off himself. I wonder if it's just the stress getting to him or if something else is up before I remind myself I'm not supposed to care.

Whatever. I'm not complaining about a free 45 minutes.

I try to think of somewhere quiet to go, then realize my room will be empty with Ethos still in tech training. I haven't been back there in days.

I lie down on my bunk and start translating something for Bering, since he's still got his briefs in a bunch and is sending me busywork. A message from some Greek jerk who can't be bothered to write in English like the rest of the goddamn solar system. 

I can't concentrate. I go over the first sentence four times, but all I can think about is Abel not looking where he was going on the way to breakfast, bumping into me and patting my chest with a quick "Oh! Sorry!"

I can still feel his hand on me. 

Ugh. This is stupid. 

OK, fine. Ethos won't be back for 35 minutes yet. Maybe I can get this out of my system.

I imagine rescuing Abel from Cain somehow. Throwing Cain off the catwalk in the comm room like I should have done when he attacked me back on the station.

No. That's still stupid. This isn't some fairytale. I should do something about that asshole, but that's not necessarily going to help me here.

What if I just went to Abel's room and told him how beautiful he is, how badly I want him, how much he deserves better than Cain? 

Or me.

Crap.

OK. What if Abel came to me? He was brave enough to save my life over Cain's objections. Imagine him showing up at my door, sick of Cain's bullshit and looking for someone who's at least a different kind of damaged.

And maybe Cain was lying about fucking him. Maybe he's a virgin and I could try to do for him some of what Techne did for me. 

Maybe I wouldn't have to fumble for the right words and guess at what to do because he'd tell me exactly what he wanted. Make it VERY clear.

I like this idea. I like it a LOT...

For a few brief minutes, I'm off in a wonderland version of the past, where a beautiful dark-eyed blond wants me as much as I want him, I can keep us both safe, and I feel whole and not alone.

Then I'm done, or at least my body is, and the knowledge of how idiotic this whole thing is comes rushing back. 

Abel is not Techne. Techne is dead. As of two days ago, he's been dead longer than we were together. 

I need to forget both of them. Concentrate on my work. 

But I can't. 

Pathetic.

I get up and splash some water on my face. Oh, brilliant, now I got the patch wet. Nice move, dumbass.

I stay hunched over the sink for a moment, glaring at my dripping, ugly, fucked up reflection.

_I saved your life. The least you could do is give me some information._

Fuck. He's right. I've been so wrapped up in my own problems, I've barely given a thought to his awful situation in weeks. I have to figure out how t--

"Oh! Praxis, you're actually here!"

Shit. I meant to be gone by now. 

I murmur a greeting as I pull on my jacket. Why didn't I hear the door open?

"We'll be entering Colteron space soon!"

Like I didn't know that. And I know what he's going to say next. Something about training together. Which we really should, but I--

"I thought we could practice some...hey!"

Yeah, no. I can't right now. I just can't. I have to get my sorry ass out of here before I say something I'll regret. 

"Where are you going!?"

Somewhere you're not.

"Out!"

I leave Ethos to sleep through our last few relatively safe hours if he can, find a deserted room with a forward-facing window, and gaze at the stars ahead until morning.


	35. Chapter 35

I'm trying not to stare at Abel across the mess hall when who should sit down across from him but Ethos. They start chatting and I immediately wonder if they're talking about me. Which is stupid. Why the hell would they be talking about me? 

But then Ethos looks over his shoulder and our eyes meet for just an instant before he turns away, blushing. What does THAT mean?

I wish I could go over there and find out for sure what's going on. Apparently I'm not the only one. Two Fighters are striding through the Navigators' side of the mess, one rigid and spiky and trying to look as big as he can, the other small and furtive. 

A murmur starts up among my tablemates. "Is that Cain? The fuck's he doing?"

Good question. I'd ask Castor if he knew anything, but the Essex is out on patrol with a few others from the Blue Team. Plus talking to him is still awkward, though he seems to be getting over it a bit. Enough to borrow 50 credits from me a few nights ago, anyway.

Cain plunks himself down next to Abel, who seems surprised at first and then nervous with a hint of annoyance. Not outright scared, at least. I guess Cain's in a good mood today.

Deimos sits next to Ethos and glares at him. Crap. Did they break up or something? Or is my yappy dog in trouble for talking to Abel? Is being my Navigator dangerous when I'm not even around?

"Isn't that your Nav, Praxis?" asks Aramis next to me.

"Yep."

And I don't have to be in love with the kid to protect him if he needs it. If either one of them looks like he's threatening Ethos, I'm going over there no matter what anyone thinks.

"Cutie you got there! You two, uh...?"

I turn to look at him and he trails off.

"Jeez, OK! I'm just asking! For a friend!"

I nod and turn back to watch. Ethos IS a cutie, and he'll get hassled less if the other Fighters think I may have claimed him. Which crossed my mind once or twice when he briefly seemed to be interested, but there's no way he still is, even if whatever he and Deimos were doing is over. He gets on my nerves too much to make our relationship anything more than it has to be anyway. 

Abel and Cain look like they're bickering for a moment. Then Abel takes a spoonful of Cain's soup and Cain laughs at his reaction. 

So does Aramis. "Wow, someone actually likes this crap!"

"It's not that bad," I say. 

We get into a debate about the soup, which leads to Aramis trying to rib me for being a Ruskie and me telling him I'm fucking Greek, you stupid sand farmer. Our tablemates are laughing at that and someone's brought up the old chestnut about all white people looking the same anyway when I hear "HEY!" from across the room.

Porthos and that prissy little snot he hangs around with are standing over Abel's table, looking combative. Cain's standing now too and appears to be yelling at them.

"Isn't that _your_ Nav, Aramis?" I ask with a smirk.

"Urgh," he replies, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "Porthos, you silly bastard. Go on, pick a fight with Cain. I give you 30 seconds before he punches your stupid face in."

"Five credits says 20 seconds!" calls someone from behind him. Then everyone within earshot gets into it, calling out bets. Except me, since I actually care about two people at that table. 

Abel is on his feet now too. That's it.

I start to stand up, knock my tray with my elbow, and send the whole thing crashing to the floor. I'm squatting to clean up the mess when the guy behind me notices some soup spattered on his pants, turns around, and smacks me in the side of the head. I shove him, but not too hard since I kind of deserved it. 

Meanwhile, Aramis and Perseus on his other side are practically falling off the bench laughing. I'm contemplating throwing a soggy roll at them when the alarm goes off.

"ALERT! INCOMING ENEMY ATTACK! ALERT! ALERT!"

That's one way to stop a fight.


	36. Chapter 36

Tiberius isn't on the first response team, but I still need to get to the main observation room, find Ethos, and be ready to deploy if called. 

So, of course, I knock my tray down again as I get up, then STEP on the goddamn thing and practically fall on my face. As I'm scrambling to my feet again, a kick to the ribs sends me back down. I look up and see the pinched, pasty white face of the Scorpio's Fighter and two other guys I don't know laughing at me, then running away. 

Seriously? NOW?!

Suddenly, the rage I felt after Cain shot at me and Ethos comes surging back. I'm usually pretty calm for a Fighter, but you shitstains picked the wrong fucking time for this. 

I'm also pretty damn fast for my size.

Part of me knows this is stupid, but a much larger part is finally free after being kicked around and shit on for months. Years. And it wants blood.

I catch up with the slowest of the shitstains a few yards outside the mess hall. When I spin him around, he looks enough like Perseus to make me do a double take, but no, it's just some colonymate or distant cousin. So I hurl him into the wall. He hits it with a satisfying thunk, then doubles over clutching his nose and moaning in Spanish.

The other two glance over their shoulders and dash off again, no longer laughing.

Scorpio jerk is in the lead. As we come up to a fork in the corridor, his remaining friend looks back at me again, waits to see which fork Jerkface will take, then crashes through another door and disappears in a flash of long chestnut hair.

Smartest thing you've done all day.

To his credit, jerkface is ready when I catch him. The moment I lay a hand on his shoulder, he whirls around and aims a jab at my eye.

Like I haven't spent hundreds of hours mentally rehearsing what I'll do if someone tries that.

Thank you, Cain.

Even so, I don't duck quite quick enough and he clips my ear. I try to catch his wrist and miss. I'm just registering the fact that he's pretty damn fast too, at least fighting if not running, when he kicks my legs while I'm off balance. I start to catch myself, then take a risk and fall.

He pauses just an instant to gloat at me on the floor, which gives me more than enough time to slam both feet into his belly. He caves in around it and starts to go down. I've got him in a headlock before he hits the floor.

"TIBERIUS! SCORPIO! What the HELL do you think you're doing?!"

It's Sergeant Artemis. Encke's second, the one who interrupted the fight between Cain and Jackson my first poker night. He's so pissed off the veins in his neck are bulging out and his scars are almost glowing red against his grey-brown cheek.

We both freeze, then I let jerkface out of the headlock. By flinging him face-first at the floor.

"TIBERIUS!"

OK, OK. Still trembling with fury, I force my fingers to unclench. Make myself put my hands up in surrender. Take a step back from jerkface.

Artemis glares at me for another moment, then strides over and yanks jerkface to his feet by his dirty brown hair. Which is impressive since they're about the same size.

"You stupid shit. You think Encke was kidding about brawling? Report to the brig immediately after the threat level is lowered."

Jerkface opens his mouth to argue, then visibly thinks better of it and says, "Yes, sir."

He slinks off as Artemis turns to me and jabs a finger in my chest.

"Tiberius, you're lucky I saw the start of that. This is your only warning. You get in a fight again, you're going straight back to the brig for a month."

Ohh. Could I?

I briefly consider hitting him just to get a month of peace. 

Then I remember what Encke said about needing everyone ready for action once we were in Colteron space. No way is Artemis going to put me or anyone else in the brig for a month. At most, I'd be in there for the few days it will take to reach the shipyard we're supposed to destroy. Then I'd be jolted out of bed and back to work like I was last time.

I still have no idea how the hell I managed to do so well in that battle, but I remember very clearly how slow I was to acclimate. How my yappy dog had to bark at me before I got my shit together. 

I can't afford to miss any more training.

"Yes, sir."

Artemis keeps looking at me like he wants to say something more, then forms his mouth into a thin straight line and points at the exit.

"Get out of my sight."


	37. Chapter 37

I'm not quite the last to arrive again, but it's close. Ah, there's Ethos near the front. Still panting and shaking a little from adrenaline, I barge through everyone else to go stand by him because I just don't give a shit about being nice right now.

He gives me a look like he wants to tell me how disappointed he is with me for being late again, but he, unlike me, is an adult who can control himself and wait for an appropriate time. I swear he's been taking lessons from my mother. 

The battle is well underway. Cassandra, Essex, Taurus, and Solstice have been joined by Xanadu, Equinox, and--of course--Reliant. I can see them all zooming around in a blur on the big screen up there on the wall and hear their voices over the radio. 

Someone vaguely familiar sounds upset. Scared. A Navigator, someone I've heard before maybe once or twice but can't place.

Tesla, Lead Navigator of the Blue Team: "Essex, you're falling behind!"

"I know! I'm trying to reroute the power--"

I know the voice now. It's Pollux. Castor's Nav. The one Castor claimed must be a robot because he never showed emotion. Sounding terrified.

Tesla again: "ESSEX!"

A flash. A snap from the radio. And it's that quick.

There are only six Starfighters on the screen now and they're all labeled something other than Essex. And there's Aramis in the row ahead of me, ashen and stricken, leaning on his big oaf of a Nav for support. 

And the first thing my fucked up brain thinks is, I guess I'm not getting my 50 credits back.

The next few seconds--minutes?--are mostly a blank. 

"HU-MAN...COWARDSS..."

Are they...TALKING to us?

"...We're going to meet it head on!"

"DA BLYAT! That's what I'm TALKIN' about, Abel!"

Oh, FUCK! ABEL!!

I can't watch.

I can't not watch.

I hate this. I hate this so fucking much.

It should be me out there, not him. Not Abel. Please, gods, not Abel. Please...

I should have died four months ago with the man I loved. Death was coming for me, almost had me in its claws, but Abel got in the way and now he's going to pay and I never did a single thing to help him.

"Hey, Abel! You got a plan for getting us out of this alive, right?"

Of course he does, you prick. Have some faith.

Please, gods, spare Abel and I'll have all the faith you could want. 

Pallas Athena, mother of warriors, cast your aegis over Abel. Brother Hades, it was I who cheated you. Not him. Please don't take him. Not yet. _Please!_

"CAIN! TAKE THE SHOT!"

Another flash. 

Nothing.

_NO NO NO..._

"Reliant, we've lost track of you on our sensors!"

More nothing. 

"Roger that, command. We're OK. Enemy ship has been destroyed."

Suddenly my arms are raised and my throat is raw because I'm screaming my head off but it's OK because so is everyone else. 

He's alive. The battle is over. We won. And it's all I can do to stay on my feet now.

One by one, the away ships roar hiss thump back into their places as a wave of people rushes up to meet them. I only realize I'm helping lead the wave when I stop suddenly and the rest of it washes past me. They're all running to be with their friends. Cheering, hugging, relieved reunions. I care about three people who were in that battle--no, just two now--but they won't want me there. I'd just be in the way.

Xanadu lands smoothly and both hatches pop up. Keeler carefully climbs out and down while Encke scowls and jabs at his control panel, looking aggravated but none the worse for wear.

Reliant is the last to return. Cain bursts out almost before they've set down, but it seems to take forever for Abel's hatch to open. And when it does, I can see immediately that something's wrong. He's staggering, pale but sweating, barely staying upright.

Cain, of course, doesn't seem to notice a thing, just lets out a triumphant whoop and bounds over to throw his arms around Abel, almost knocking him down. Abel freezes, then tentatively moves to hug Cain back. Cain shoves him away, still keeping a hand clamped on his shoulder, then turns to showboat for the crowd.

The cheering intensifies. Abel smiles painfully and waves, then stumbles again. I'm an instant from barging through to the base of the ladder to catch him if he falls, but then Cain gives him a yank and he rallies. His cheeks are flushed now, his grin genuine, eyes wide with sweet, innocent surprise at all the attention. He makes it to the ground just fine, Cain right behind him, and the jubilant crowd engulfs them both.

I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. Bend forward and brace my hands on my knees, sucking in air so fast it makes my head spin. 

Cain practically dances across the hangar bay, striking one victorious pose after another, dragging Abel along like a prop. He arranges them in the elevator in one more triumphant stance, waving, grinning. Everyone else turns away as the doors slide closed, so I'm probably the only one who sees it. Sees Cain drop the act, turn to Abel, grab the front of his suit with both hands, and shove him out of view just as the doors hiss shut.

"Praxis?"

Ethos is tugging on my arm. Staring up at me with those big baby-blues. I've got the feeling he's been trying to get my attention for several minutes. Shit, he's probably been glued to my side this entire time. And I forgot all about him.

"Come on," he says softly. "Let's go...rest."

Rest. There's a word I haven't thought of in a long time. I'm not quite sure I remember what it means.

I gently disengage my arm from Ethos's grasp.

"Go on ahead," I tell him. "There's something I have to do."


	38. Chapter 38

I can't go to his room. I can't message him without Cain seeing. I can't pull him aside to talk unless I know for a fact that Deimos is somewhere else, which he never fucking is because apparently it's the little shit's JOB to tail him and report everything he does back to Cain.

What am I supposed to do, then? Kidnap him?

I've been here all night, in a little alcove off the end of his hall in the dorms. Sitting, pacing, hitting the walls. Thinking of Castor. Thinking of Abel. Every moment I've shared with either of them playing over and over in my mind. Trying desperately to come up with a solution.

I don't know what to do.

There are no good options.

I don't know what to do, but I have to do SOMETHING. I've let this go far too long. Castor can keep my 50 credits, but I can't let Abel die without having done everything I can to help him. If that happens, I'll lose it completely. Cross over the line I've brushed up against when I've been awake for days and never come back. Or take a knife to my throat instead of my wrists and mean it.

I don't know what to do.

And here he comes.

Step. Step. Step.

I stop breathing.

Step. Step. Step.

I don't know what to do.

He's smiling in a distracted, daydreaming kind of way.

He's past me. Walking away.

Step. Step...

I still don't know what to do even as I dart into the corridor, close the distance between us, and grab him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the facepalming begin.


	39. Chapter 39

It takes me about half a second to realize this wasn't one of my brighter ideas. 

The instant I let Abel go, he's going to bolt. Then Cain will get the story out of him, possibly hurting him badly in the process, then come to kill me. Or blind me if he's guessed I'd rather die. 

Well, there's no going back now.

I've got Abel back in the alcove, one arm locked around his chest and my other hand over his mouth. He struggles and tries to cry out, but he's small and skinny and has probably never been in a fight in his life. I have no trouble keeping him captive and quiet, but he feels so fragile against me that I'm afraid I'll hurt him. 

I can feel his heart racing. Can he feel mine? 

He must be so scared. I feel awful about doing this to him. 

I hold him as gently as I dare. Whisper "Shh..." into his hair. Like that's going to help. 

Surprisingly, it does. He stops fighting for a moment. 

"Here he comes," I breathe as I hear Deimos approach.

Abel goes still and tries to turn his head to look at the hallway. I rotate us a bit so he can see. Talking to him seems to have calmed him down, so I keep doing it.

"His name is Deimos," I explain in a whisper I can barely hear myself. "He's Cain's lapdog. Could be Cain has something over him to make Deimos follow his orders. Either way, he does that bastard's dirty work. Cain's tasked him with trailing you whenever you two are apart."

Deimos glances around, frowns, snarls, then sprints off down the corridor.

"He's off to tell Cain he lost you," I tell Abel. "We don't have much time..."

I take a deep breath to try and settle my nerves, then release him, hoping he won't flee. 

Instead, he whirls around and shoves me harder than I would have thought he could, catching me off guard so I stagger back.

"Praxis!? What the HELL!"

He's pissed. Scared and confused too, but mostly really angry. 

OK. Angry is better than terrified. I can work with angry.

"I'm sorry, but I had to grab you," I tell him. Like I fucking planned this. "There was no other way to talk to you without him seeing us! And I have to give you the information you wanted."

He scowls at me, looking more confused than ever.

"Information?"

That throws me for a second. But it's fuck o'clock in the morning and maybe he's not entirely awake yet.

"Don't you remember? When I first met you, when we were talking in the corridor, you said the least I could do was give you information."

His curiosity seems to be winning out over fear and anger.

"I know I hesitated on the station, but things are different now."

It took losing a friend to make me stop being a goddamn pussy about this, but better late than never.

"I've decided to tell you everything I know. Everything about Cain."

I describe seeing Cain on the transport. Get as far as "...arrogant, flashy, conceite--" before Abel interrupts.

"Is this going anywhere, Praxis?"

"Oh, y-yes. I'm sorry, I got carried away..."

Focus, you idiot.

Try again. Get to the damn point. Tell him how Cain ordered everyone not to talk to his Navigator and told us his plan to mark him with a scar. How it wasn't an accident or even an impulsive act. And how he had his little lackey ready to knife anyone who stood up to him.

Abel just looks angrier than ever. How is he not getting this?! I rush to tell him about how Cain's been conspiring with Bering, who I know is bad news, but I'm not explaining this well at all and I'm sure I'm forgetting something. This time I get as far as "...two-faced, lying--"

"STOP TALKING ABOUT HIM LIKE THAT!"

Ohh, shit. This is worse than I thought. How could I have forgotten how my mom defended my stepfather whenever anyone asked about her bruises? How she wouldn't hear a word against him out of me even after he broke my nose? Even after he put her in the hospital?

"Meeting with his Commander, some Fighter in the hallway. How is any of this out of the ordinary?"

Denial isn't just a river in Egypt. And did I just hear running footsteps in the corridor?

"You hate Cain, I get it! Thanks for the tip!"

He starts to walk off. Fuck! How do I stop him?!

"Abel!"

Talking about Cain didn't work, so maybe I should focus on him.

"I know you're better than this. Better than _him._ "

_"WHAT?"_

Nope. Bad idea. Talk about a death glare. If looks could kill, I'd be a little pile of ash on the floor.

"You don't know me at ALL, Praxis!" Abel spits.

That was definitely a flash of movement behind him. 

All right, Cain. Come on in. Sneak up on my blind side and take a slash while Abel watches. Prove me right. Show him exactly what you are.

"And your own Navigator is the one you should be concerned with!"

Wait, what? 

"Ethos? He doesn't understand--"

"He understands more than you think! Maybe if you spent more time with him instead of worrying about me, you'd realize that!"

He starts to storm off again. This is not working AT ALL. But I'm not done yet. There's something I'm forgetting. Something, anything--

"He called you a SLUT!"

That stops him in his tracks. 

I feel a flicker of desperate hope. 

Then he glares back at me with equal parts anger and disgust.

"Cain wouldn't say that. You're pathetic, Praxis."

I know. 

He's walking away again. Every step is like a boot crushing the blackened shards of my heart.

Step. Step. Step. 

Step. Step...

Gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone needs a hug and a [Gibbs slap.](http://i.imgur.com/dFKwd9W.gif) Not necessarily in that order.


	40. Chapter 40

I'm most of the way to my assigned room before I realize where I'm going. 

Fine. If everyone was called to their ships, it should be empty. And If Ethos is there, I'll just turn right around and leave before he has time to say anything. It's not like he could catch me on his stubby little legs.

It's empty.

I step in and close the door. Ball my fists at my sides. Try not to think about the knife in my boot and what I want to do with it.

In all the months of trying to work up my meager courage, after all the years of seeing the subtle intricacies of systematic abuse, it never once occurred to me that he might not believe me. That finally doing the right thing, telling him the truth, might not matter.

I am too stupid to fucking live.

My breath catches and goes ragged.

Don't cry. Don't cry. Do. Not. Fucking. Cr--Oh, FUCK.

Stagger over to the sink. Remember to take the damn patch off this time. Splash water on my face. Make the mistake of looking up and there's a dumb cowardly ugly awkward useless broken PATHETIC piece of shit looking back at me from the mirror.

I hate him so much I can hardly breathe.

I punch him right in the eye that isn't there. Spiderweb cracks radiate from it. That's a little better. I can't see him so clearly now.

I hit him again, and again, and keep hitting him until I can't see him at all and the sink and surrounding floor are full of broken glass. 

I want so badly to collapse in the mess I've made, curl up, and let the sobs tear through me. But if I start that, I'll never stop. And there's still something I have to do. Someone maybe I can still be strong for.

Stand up. Breathe. Get my face under control. 

Remember Abel's expression as he turned away... 

NO. STOP IT.

A few bits of glass are stuck in my hands. Pull them out. Blot the cuts with toilet paper.

Put my gloves back on. Put the patch back on. Count to 20... 50... 100...

GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, FIGHTER.

Start walking again. Out the door. Down the hall.

Barely take in my surroundings until Keeler rounds a corner and runs right into me. He starts to fall and I reflexively catch him. He looks like shit, ghost white and sweaty. I start to ask what's wrong, but he just slaps my hands away and dashes off.

Seconds later, Encke charges past after him, wearing the same look he had after the battle where my head got busted and I just sat holding the ladder. He's obviously got someone better to worry about now.

Then I'm at the door to the hangar bay. 

_Your own Navigator is the one you should be concerned with!_

OK, Abel, you have a point. If you won't let me help you, I can at least do what you said and try to be a better teammate to Ethos.

There he is, typing at his work station underneath the Tiberius.

Let's just see how I fuck THIS up.


	41. Chapter 41

He spins around with a gasp and looks up at me like I'm some sort of monster.

Way to fuck things up before you even open your big stupid mouth.

My voice comes out surprisingly normal.

"I was wondering if...you needed a hand?"

He just gapes at me for a moment as if that's the most bizarre thing he's ever heard, then spins back around to his work station.

Maybe this wasn't one of my brighter ideas either.

"It's OK," he says nervously. "I mean...I think, Abel might..."

URGH. Have I been THAT obvious? 

_You're pathetic, Praxis._

"..also need help, if you'd rather..."

What I'd rather do is hide someplace no one will ever find me, open my carotids, and feel all the grief and loneliness and crushing shame flow out of me until I'm finally clean. 

Instead, I put my hand on Ethos's shoulder and say, "No, I... You're the one I want to help."

And there's that big goofy grin again. It's a bit unnerving how happy he looks. 

He glances at my hand. I snatch it back REAL fast. 

We just stare at each other for a moment. 

"Uh...so...what can I do?" I ask.

"Oh, well, I'm just trying to parse the petatonic relay from sectors 81 through K and replace any ANZA converters that have bad packets, but the data convergence at the mexa level--"

"Huh?"

"Um, y-you could also just tell me if any ABRAC parathelsis alerts come up on your console while I calibrate the central hub."

Shit. I didn't think this would be so complicated.

"Uh...sorry. I don't speak Navigator. You got anything on a high shelf you can't reach or heavy objects that need moving?"

"Um..."

"Never mind. Have you had any breakfast?"

"B-breakfast?"

I'm getting tired of the way he keeps gawking at me like I have three heads.

"Yeah, breakfast! Food you eat in the morning?"

OK, that was rude. Calm down, dumbass. Deep breaths. Be nice.

"Would you like some?"

"Oh! Yes, please!"

He's smiling again. Whew.

"Right. I'll get us some."


	42. Chapter 42

The mess hall is almost empty. There's a little huddle of people in the far corner, but I leave them alone and vice versa.

I take a tray, put two bowls on it, and go up to the dispenser on the Fighters' side like usual. 

"PLACE YOUR BOWL UNDER THE SPOUT. PLACE YOUR BOWL UNDER THE SPOUT."

Yeah. Thanks. I never would have figured that out for myself.

The thing splorts out something that looks and smells like it was already eaten. I'm not giving Ethos THAT. And come to think of it, why should I eat this crap myself?

"MOVE ALONG. MOVE ALONG."

I dump the bowls into the waste receptacle and cross to the Navs' side of the room, glancing at the group in the corner. It's mostly Fighters, but I can see a few white uniforms in there too, including Porthos near the center. It looks like he's talking earnestly to someone I can't see past him and a muscular Fighter whose name I've forgotten. I wonder vaguely what's going on, then forget all about them when I get up close to the Navs' food dispenser. 

It smells GREAT. Like when my dad used to get up early on Sundays and make us all a fried breakfast before he and my sister went to church. 

No wonder Ethos is a bit chubby. The only mystery is how most of them stay so thin.

I'm trying to figure out how to turn the thing on when a light flashes in my face and a screen lights up with words.

\---

GENDER: Cis Male

HEIGHT: 189 cm

WEIGHT: 99.63 kg

BODY FAT %: 8.96

You are overweight for your height. You should eat fewer calories and more protein.

You are deficient in body fat. You should eat more calories and more carbohydrates.

\---

The fuck??

I hear a snicker from behind me. Porthos steps up to the machine, smirking, ignoring the way I shove the bowls aside and get ready to punch him if I need to.

"Heh. This thing is ancient. A few of us thought it would be funny to set it to contradictory early 21st century standards. Here..."

He taps around on the screen for a few moments, then plops down a plate. The machine spits what looks like scrambled eggs on it, then emits a couple of sausages and something green. 

Porthos hands the plate to me.

"Wow. Uh, thanks! Uh, I'm supposed to get breakfast for my Nav too...?"

He chuckles again. "Ethos? Sure, hang on."

Just as the second plate is being filled, I hear "HEY!" from behind me again, in a whiny, obnoxious tone I've heard before.

"Porthos, what are you DOING? Come ONN!"

Oh, lovely. It's the snot.

Porthos quickly hands me the second plate and turns toward his friend, looking both annoyed and worried.

"Yes, Phobos, what?"

"I--" Phobos starts, then seems to notice me.

"What are YOU doing over here, Fighter?" he demands loudly.

I take my time putting both plates of food on a tray, then turn and glare right into his weaselly little face.

"I'm getting breakfast, _Navigator_! You got a problem with that?"

Porthos steps between us.

He's trying to get Phobos to go sit down when a voice behind me demands, "YEAH, Praxis, what ARE you doing?!"

The knot of people in the corner has broken up and Aramis has emerged from the middle of it to come and snipe at me.

I start to repeat what I said to Phobos, but Aramis interrupts: "OF COURSE you pick NOW to demand Nav food! Castor's barely cold and you have to be WEIRD again! It's always about YOU! Where the fuck were you last night for his vigil? Oh, that's right, you were in your bunk sleeping like a fucking baby because YOU..."

His voice cracks.

"...never even CARED..."

Porthos and a couple of Fighters drag him away, sobbing. 

A lump forms in my throat at the same time as I realize I haven't slept in over 52 hours.

I take a deep breath, blink very fast, count to 20, and carry the tray out of the mess hall without spilling anything.


End file.
